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TORCH BEARERS 



NOT FOR YEARS HAD HE FOUND HIMSELF SO MUCH IN THE MOOD OF A 

SCHOOLBOY ON A STOLEN HOLIDAY 


[Page 45] 














THE 

TORCH BEARERS 


A TALE OF CAVALIER DAYS 


BY 

BERNARD MARSHALL 

AUTHOR OF “CEDRIC THE FORESTER,” 
“WALTER OF TIVERTON,” ETC. 



To you from failing hands we throw 
The torch. Be yours to bear it high. 


j > 
> > > 


D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 

NEW YORK :: 1923 :: LONDON 











COPYRIGHT, 1923, BY 
P. APPLETON AND COMPANY 


•» 


< 


• « 
# # 


< 


PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 

1 


SEP 19 '23 




©C1A739022 


TO 

MY MOTHER 
THIS BOOK IS 
AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED 






N 






\ 


/. 







CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 

1. 

At the Academy of the 

Rapier 


• 

PAGE 

1 

II. 

The King’s Registrar 






11 

III. 

Heatherington Road 






24 

IV. 

Roundhead and Cavalier 





37 

V. 

A Woodland Festival 






45 

VI. 

The Crossways 






56 

VII. 

Grimsby Manor 






63 

VIIL 

War Clouds 






72 

IX. 

Poor Man’s Law . 






80 

X. 

Redbeard .... 






102 

XI. 

Lieutenant Delaroche 






122 

XII. 

Edgehill Field 






133 

XIII. 

The Cavalier Captain 






153 

XIV. 

Hinsdale Hall 






163 

XV. 

A Puritan Utopia . 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

180 

XVI. 

The Thunderbolt 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

190 







viii CONTENTS 

CHAPTER PACE 

XVII. The Prisoners. 207 

XVIII. Kenmoor Wood. 218 

XIX. Naseby. 232 

XX. The Agreement of the People . . 245 

XXL The Headsman of Whitehall . . 261 

XXII. The Leveler. 272 

XXIII. The Wizard of Benlow ..... 281 

XXIV. Cedrics WOLD. 297 

XXV. Westward Ho! .305 








ILLUSTRATIONS 


Not for years had he found himself so much in the 
mood of a schoolboy on a stolen holiday . 

Frontispiece 

PAGig 

Here the slaughter was the worst of the entire day 149 

“You are no nephew of mine, and naught but a 

cursed Roundhead’’.167 

Lucy clearly had no enmity toward him, whatever 
she might feel for the partisans of the Parlia¬ 
ment in general.177 

Then without a second’s loss of time he attacked 

the leader who had already seized Lucy’s wrist 203 

Miles put spurs to his horse and the two quickly 

passed out of sight of their pursuers . . . 291 










THE TORCH BEARERS 


CHAPTER I 

AT THE ACADEMY OF THE RAPIER 

T he afternoon sunlight of an April day slanted 
through the dusty windows of a great vaulted 
hall that, in the days of stout Henry the 
Eighth a century gone, had been the boast of a proud 
mansion near the western verge of London town. 
Now the fortunes of its inheritors had fallen, and the 
old timbered dwelling, like its neighbors on either side, 
had come to low estate. A dozen or more lodgers 
occupied its upper chambers; a tobacconist had opened 
a shop in the room whence my lady and her friends in 
ruff and farthingale had been wont to view the 
passers-by in the muddy street below; and Monsieur 
La Salle—“gentleman of France and the world— 
soldier, scholar and instructor of youth”—^had estab¬ 
lished in this apartment of olden state his “Academic 
de la Rapiere.” Here he daily received the aristo¬ 
cratic youths of the town who came to perfect them¬ 
selves in the mastery of sword and pistol. 

A noisy group of these scions of nobility and 
fashion, ranging from boys fresh from the dame’s 
school to tall fellows,of one and twenty with their 
first mustachios, surrounded a pair of fencers, who 

I 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


danced and whirled about each other in the center of 
the hall. Monsieur La Salle was for the time engaged 
in another room with the son of a ducal house, who 
had come that day for his first lesson. His other 
pupils had been left to exercise themselves meanwhile 
in all the thrusts and parries he had so thoroughly 
explained and illustrated, and above all in ‘^ze incom¬ 
parable passado La Salle.” Half a dozen well- 
matched pairs had been arranged amongst the lads, 
and the opening pose of each had been reviewed and 
corrected with military precision. Then, with parting 
injunctions, animated by many gestures, frowns and 
smiles. Monsieur had departed with his new pupil to 
the smaller and more elegant apartment on the second 
floor which was reserved for the private and particular 
instruction of youths of high degree. But all the 
single combats in the hall save the one that now held 
the floor had long been abandoned and the lads 
crowded closely about to watch an epochal contest. 

Both the swordsmen were panting for breath, and 
the sweat poured down their faces, for, with but one 
or two brief pauses, the bout had already lasted an 
hour or more. But Artliur Hinsdale, the taller and 
slighter of the two, still held himself on his toes like 
a dancer, springing suddenly from side to side and 
encircling his antagonist with darting runs and feints 
the while he sought some avenue for his swift and oft- 
repeated thrusts. The glossy black ringlets that, in 
the fashion of the day, he wore at shoulder length, 

2 


AT THE ACADEMY OF THE RAPIER 


now flew about in wild disorder; his handsome face 
was fiery red and distorted by a frown more suited to 
a mortal combat than to a friendly tilt with safely 
buttoned foils; and his sky-blue silk waistcoat was 
moist with perspiration and in more than one place 
had been torn by his opponent’s foil. 

Hinsdale’s antagonist was a youth of twenty or 
thereabouts, a hand’s breadth shorter than himself, but 
more tlian a little broader at the chest and hips. He 
was of a powerful frame indeed, with solid, oaklike 
thighs and the long, sinewy arms of a swordsman, now 
bared to the very shoulders. A pair of gray-blue 
eyes lighted a countenance that was intelligent and 
forceful rather than handsome; and a broad, good- 
humored mouth and square-built jaw were in striking 
contrast with the slighter features of his opposite. 

Six months before, Myles Delaroche had come to 
London from his father’s small holding of Grimsby 
in the West Country, and made his appearance at the 
Academie of Monsieur La Salle. At the first, his lack 
of skill with the small sword, together with his sober, 
half-Puritanic dress and his uncurled, flaxen locks, 
cut squarely at the neck, had excited the derision of 
these town-bred lads. Covert jibes, that grew more 
open as they seemed not to be noticed, greeted his 
slightest failures or mistakes. At last the recognized 
leader, Arthur Hinsdale, younger son of Sir William 
of Hinsdale and London, half mockingly offered to 
lesson the country youth. His offer was accepted with 

3 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


such grave courtesy that, for very shame, the young 
Londoner could not do otherwise than fence a bout 
or two with the newcomer. He had not prevailed so 
easily as might have been expected from the stranger’s 
awkwardness of posture; and, after a second tilt a 
week later, Hinsdale admitted that Delaroche had a 
wrist, and might learn a pass or two in time. 

Since that day he had not crossed foils with the 
Roundhead, as, behind their hands, the lads called the 
broad-shouldered Westerner; and had indeed been 
absent for weeks at a time from the fencing school. 
Myles, on the other hand, had never missed, on a 
week day, his afternoon visit to the old mansion in 
Willoughby Road. Thus he had spent a good three 
hours daily with either foil or pistol in hand. On 
this April day, he had coolly challenged the acknowl¬ 
edged champion. 

With a bored and superior smile, young Hinsdale 
had accepted. Without stopping to remove his doub¬ 
let or to don the leathern breastguard, he had plucked 
a foil from the rack, made a deep, mock-serious bow 
to the challenger, and then advanced toward the West 
Country youth with a dancing step imitated from a 
favorite comedian. 

Now it seemed that the tables were turned. In the 
course of half an hour, the mocking smile had given 
place to a look of surprise, then to one of irritation 
and finally to one of furious rage. Hinsdale had 
tried, one after the other, nearly every trick of fence 

4 


AT THE ACADEMY OF THE RAPIER 


he knew. Each had been met with its proper parry; 
and twice the button of the Westerner’s foil had 
bruised his ribs. The crowd that swayed and cheered 
about them grew riotous with excitement. 

“A hit!” shouted one, as the silken doublet was 
ripped again by a well-directed blow. “By Heaven! 
Hinsdale, he gives you a scurvy deal to-day. ’Tis 
three times now, and no return.” 

“You lie like a pickthief,” screamed Hinsdale, still 
circling madly about his opponent and striking wild 
and futile blows. “ ’Twas no hit—naught but a graze 
that counts for nothing. Come on again, you West 
Country yokel. I’ll swear you never can repeat” 

The other had momentarily lowered his weapon; 
but at this rude challenge he stepped quickly forward 
and seized the offensive. Blade smote against blade 
at bewildering speed; both contestants seemed at once 
to thrust and parry; and the swish and clang of steel 
for the moment drowned the laughter and jeers of 
the onlookers. Forced by this determined onslaught 
to abandon his tactics of swift and varied attack, and 
well-nigh exhausted as he was, Hinsdale still fought 
doggedly on; and, though driven backward step by 
step the full length of the hall, yet managed to guard 
his breast against the stroke that meant defeat. 
Around and around the room they fought, their teeth 
clenched and their eyes staring. Young Hinsdale 
fairly staggered with weariness, and his breath came 
with quick, hoarse gasps like those of a foundered 

5 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


horse. The onlookers, in their eagerness to see the 
outcome of this mighty bout, ceased their fire of bois¬ 
terous comment, and pressed closely about the fencers 
or sprang nimbly away from the flashing blades. 

For minutes together the rivals stood thrusting 
and parrying with all their remaining strength in a 
corner of the hall to which Hinsdale had been driven 
by his opponent’s steady advance. Here was no 
opportunity for the sidewise leaps and runs upon 
which he so much depended to confuse an adversary’s 
aim; and his breath was too far gone for such tactics 
even on the wider floor. Delaroche was pressing his 
vantage to the utmost. All through the bout he had 
saved his breath for the work in hand, had taken no 
steps save those necessary to keep his nimbler antag¬ 
onist before him and had spoken no word at all. Yet 
he found it impossible to penetrate again the young 
Londoners’ defense; for this, though lacking, because 
of weariness, the spring and verve of his usual style, 
was still that of a swordsman bom, and left no open¬ 
ing through carelessness or blundering. 

Ever since Hinsdale’s ill-timed boast and defiance, 
the West Country youth had held the offensive; but 
now, with a last desperate effort, the Londoner re¬ 
gained it, and brought into play a feint and pass that 
had never before failed him—the passado La Salle 
itself. This wonderful stroke their instructor had 
twice assured them had been completely mastered by 
no other than Hinsdale among all his pupils. But the 

6 


AT THE ACADEMY OF THE RAPIER 


speed and nerve on which its successful execution 
depended were his no longer. His blade was swept 
aside in a perfect parry; and he received a thrust, full 
on the breast bone, and so violent as to leave no doubt 
in any mind as to the outcome of the contest. 

Dashing his sword on the floor, Hinsdale flung him¬ 
self on a bench near by, and, between gasps for breath, 
gave utterance to a series of furious oaths. His 
opponent meanwhile stood coolly leaning on his foil, 
three paces distant, making no reply to these mouth- 
ings, and steadily regarding him. For a moment 
Hinsdale paused and panted. Then, glaring at 
Delaroche with bloodshot eyes, he snarled: 

“You crop-eared son of a Roundhead!—If you’ll 
stay but three minutes—till my breath returns—Til 
fight you again—and not with these toys either. We’ll 
take that pair of rapiers on the wall there. Then, 
when something more than play depends—we shall 
see who is the better swordsman.” 

There was a murmur of admiration from the on¬ 
lookers. Hinsdale was a general favorite; and his 
spirited rejection of the very thought of defeat by this 
interloper had their full sympathy. Some of the 
younger lads turned to gaze in awe at the keen-pointed 
blades on the wall; but most of them looked eagerly 
at Delaroche to note his reception of the chal¬ 
lenge. 

In those eager and reckless days, those who styled 
themselves gentlemen stood ever ready to submit 

7 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


every quarrel to the instant decision of the sword. 
Edicts against dueling, both royal and municipal, were 
lightly set aside by the bravos of the streets and coffee¬ 
houses; and the weapons worn by all men above tlie 
rank of merchants or artisans as often drew their 
owners into needless brawls as they served to stay 
the hands of robbers or other lawless assailants. In 
such bloody work these fledgling Cavaliers were scarce 
behind their elders. Only a week before, the body 
of the Viscount Lavalee, a youth of nineteen, had been 
carried home by his fellows in a covered chair after 
he had received a mortal wound in such an encounter; 
and his antagonist had fled from England to escape the 
vengeance of the victim’s relatives. Now the whole 
gathering in the old hall waited breathlessly for 
Delaroche’s reply. 

This did not come quickly. The young countryman 
stood for full half a minute gazing steadily at his 
antagonist. Then he began speaking, slowly, and in 
a low voice, though so clearly that none present failed 
to hear him plainly: 

‘T know not why I should strive to kill you, Hins¬ 
dale, because to-day, I have had the better of our 
swordplay. You have never wronged me, save for 
an ill word or two, nor I you that I remember.” 

“ ’Twill not be you will do the killing,” cried Hins¬ 
dale, springing up from the bench and advancing 
threateningly. ’Tis another matter with bare swords 
than with these playthings, I warrant you. And now 

8 


AT THE ACADEMY OF THE RAPIER 


I doubt much whether such as you have the stomach 
for it.’’ 

Delaroche’s broad and good-humored countenance 
grew redder than ever the heat of the contest had 
made it and, for a moment the muscles of his lower 
jaw were set like those of a bulldog that faces a rival. 
But again he waited before making reply, then spoke 
in no higher key than before: 

“If I am Roundhead and yokel, then you, no less, 
are a fop and an idler. But I will not fight you for 
such a thing as this. We are not dogs or wolves to 
rend each other for mere savageness. I will not have 
your blood on my head for such a trifle as this dispute 
wherein your anger is such that you know not what 
you say. Neither shall you have mine, if I can pre¬ 
vent. Come, let us be friends again.” 

“Yah! Roundhead!” shouted a youth in a velvet 
double. “Give us another sermon. Brother Bare- 
bones.” 

“White-liver!” jeered another. “Bare steel is too 
cold, forsooth.” 

A chorus of yells and cat calls followed. But this 
was instantly stilled when Hinsdale, sweeping his arm 
about with an imperious gesture, called loudly for 
silence. A startling change had come over his coun¬ 
tenance. Facing his comrades and supporters, he 
hoarsely shouted: 

“Be still, you pack of baying hounds, and listen to 
me. He is no white-liver; and by Heaven! I will crop 

9 


THE TORCH BEARERS 

the ears of any that say he is. Delaroche is right, 
and we would do better to listen to him than to ki-yi 
like puppies baying the moon. For me, I leave this 
place for good, and find me a master swordsman who 
can teach me somewhat indeed, for it is evident that 
I learn nothing here.” 

Seizing his plumed hat and cloak from a nail near 
the door, the former leader huddled them on with 
haste and violence, and strode out of the door. The 
group of youths whom he had addressed remained 
silent and motionless from very astonishment. After 
a moment, Myles Delaroche walked slowly toward the 
rack where the foils were kept, and deposited his 
weapon in its proper groove. Then he, too, though 
more deliberately, donned hat and cloak and passed 
out of the building into the street. 


CHAPTER II 


THE KING’S REGISTRAR 

M yles walked but slowly through the spring 
twilight toward his uncle’s house in Sur¬ 
rey Lane. The scene in which he had 
just taken part had far more deeply moved him than 
he chose to show. Hinsdale’s contemptuous words 
had stung like a careless, half-intended blow from a 
riding whip; and a mighty effort had been necessary 
to keep his temper in leash. Myles had secretly 
admired the young Londoner from the first day of 
their acquaintance, and, despite his foppish ways, 
had cherished a belief in some hidden fineness in 
his nature—some vein of generosity and high-heart¬ 
edness that, under right conditions, would make him 
the truest of friends. Now the remembrance of this 
unspoken thought served only to increase Myles’ bitter 
vexation at this foolish and violent quarrel and the 
exchange of words that would make them enemies 
henceforth. 

The truth was that in challenging Hinsdale to fence 
that afternoon, Myles’ intention had been, not to de¬ 
feat and humiliate him, but to show himself a worthy 
antagonist at the foils and thus a proper associate and 


II 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


comrade. Now he questioned bitterly whether he 
could have otherwise borne himself, and whether 
worse tilings were to follow. The reckless lads at 
the fencing school he well knew would do their worst 
to renew the broil whenever he and Hinsdale met; 
and another time it might be harder still to avoid a 
bloody encounter. Hinsdale had said that he would 
not return to La Salle’s; but Delaroche had no belief 
that one whose skill had long been the school’s proud¬ 
est boast would persevere in such an intention when a 
bout or two with otlier fencers had restored his con¬ 
fidence. After much dejected thought, Myles half 
resolved to absent himself from the school in future 
lest this senseless rivalry end in fatal mischief. 

These gloomy meditations led to other thoughts as 
to his general situation and prospects and those of his 
family that were hardly more cheering. As the young 
countryman strode onward through the muddy streets 
and lanes his brow was as furrowed and his air as 
grave and absent as that of a Puritan elder meditating 
on the ideal earthly commonwealth. 

Early in the previous autumn, Myles’ uncle by mar¬ 
riage, James Dalrymple of Surrey Lane, after a 
month’s visit at Grimsby, had invited the lad to make 
his home at the great London house and to seek his 
fortune at the capital. There he would enjoy the vast 
advantage of his uncle’s distinguished patronage. 
Master Dalrymple was a fat and pompous citizen of 
fifty-five, extremely proud of his third cousinship to 


12 


THE KING’S REGISTRAR 


an earl, and always dressed and barbered in the latest 
fashion set by His Gracious Majesty, King Charles 
tlie First. He held no less an office under the Crown 
tlian that of Registrar of Functions. For the perform¬ 
ance of duties which might have kept an active clerk 
employed for a fortnight in the year he drew a hand¬ 
some salary; and at court levees he wore with splendid 
dignity a wondrous shoulder knot of purple and gold. 

What his service lacked in labor was more than 
made up by a fervid loyalty to “The Anointed King” 
and to all institutions established and maintained in 
his name. For “innovators and sectaries”—those 
who wished to set up the will of the rabble in oppo¬ 
sition to that of the Crown and to foster dissent and 
the preaching of cobblers and clowns in place of the 
Established Church—he had only disgust and con¬ 
tempt. In speaking of them his language sometimes 
became as violent as that of the ragged agitators and 
exhorters whom he decried. Myles, whose parents 
were Puritans, and who already had views of his own 
on the relations of King and People, Church and State, 
had managed for six months to keep the peace with his 
uncle by avoiding all argument in the house and pre¬ 
tending indifference to such matters. This he was 
the more willing to do because of his Cousin Lucy. 
Lucy, Master Dalrymple’s daughter by an earlier mar¬ 
riage than that with Myles’ paternal aunt, was a slen¬ 
der girl of fourteen, with great black eyes and a pas¬ 
sion for tales of chivalry and of ghosts in old manor 

13 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


houses. Her father frightened her when he launched 
one of his noisy tirades; and she had begged Myles 
never to contradict him. 

Master Dalrymple’s idea of success in life was evi¬ 
dently that of court preferment; and, from the day of 
Myles’ arrival, he had never ceased to exercise all his 
diplomatic talents and all the prestige of his position 
in his nephew’s behalf. He was determined to find 
for him what he called a stepping-stone in the form 
of a secretaryship to some great noble or a clerk’s 
place in the Royal Household. But Myles himself 
had somewhat different ambitions, and had set to work 
in his own way to realize them. The younger son 
of an impoverished baronet had no career, he reasoned, 
save that which he made for himself; and for him the 
thought of a sinecure or other powder-and-gold-lace 
position held no attraction. If he could have but two 
years for study, he believed he could see his further 
course. Within two weeks of his coming to London 
he had established himself as a student of law in the 
office of a friend of his mother’s family, Marcus 
Denby, Esquire, an old solicitor of unquestioned 
learning and honesty, in these latter days, with but 
a meager practice and therefore with abundant leisure 
to bestow on a pupil. There Myles spent all his 
morning hours in the reading of huge and dusty vol¬ 
umes and in lengthy discussions with his patron on 
Magna Charta and the traditionary rights of Parlia¬ 
ment as the bases of English law and liberty. 

14 


THE KING’S REGISTRAR 


Uncle James, who considered the profession of law 
of doubtful gentility, had small sympathy with these 
proceedings. Though he willingly paid for Myles’ 
tuition at the Academy of Monsieur la Salle, he re¬ 
fused to contribute a single guinea to the purchase of 
law books. Myles, knowing well that any money his 
father might send him could be but painfully spared, 
and being free from some of the prejudices that gov¬ 
erned his associates, had for some time been intent on 
finding ways for earning such necessary sums for him¬ 
self. 

As he approached the Dalrymple mansion, his eyes 
were bent on the ground, and his thoughts were deeply 
engaged with his various perplexities, so he did not 
see Lucy as she stealthily emerged from the door and 
looked up only when she had approached on tiptoe 
within two or three paces. She was laughing and 
her eyes were shining with excitement. 

‘^Oh, Master Wiseman!” she cried, seizing one of 
his hands in both of hers and running in circles about 
him like a Maypole dancer, ^‘a body might run fairly 
away with you before you’d come from your reveries. 
Come, tell me these wonderful thoughts that make you 
forget where you’re going. Had I not caught you, 
you’d have walked straight by. I’m sure, and had to 
ask the way back again.” * 

‘‘No,” answered Myles, smilingly—for Lucy’s 
laughing voice and tomboy pranks had already driven 
away his worries as a brisk autumn breeze sweeps 

15 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


away new fallen leaves—‘T would surely have smelled 
tliose tarts you’ve been making and that now perfume 
the very street. They would have stopped me, I 
warrant you, for no mortal man could resist them.” 

‘‘No, indeed, no man such as I have ever seen, and 
such a ravenous monster as you least of all. But you 
don’t know the wonderful, wonderful news. And 
that’s what I came out to tell you.” 

She had released Myles’ hand, but continued to 
dance about him like a very woodland sprite, her eyes 
glowing with mischief. 

“Well then, tell me, pray,” said Myles. 

“Oh, but I won’t tell you, indeed. That would 
never do.” 

“Oh, Mistress Changeabout! Did you not say but 
now that ’twas for that you came to meet me ?” 

“No, no, indeed. I said I came to tell you that you 
didn’t know the news, which is, as you see, a very dif¬ 
ferent thing.” 

“Why, yes, you mischief-maker, I see the difference 
clearly enough. But when am I to learn this wonder¬ 
ful news—and what is it about?” 

“It’s about—Oh! You schemer, you almost made 
me tell it; and Father wants to tell you himself. He’s 
gone to Lord Hampton’s; but he’ll be home soon; and 
he said no one was to tell you.” 

“Oh!” answered Myles, his enthusiasm rapidly de¬ 
clining, “I think he’s found a post for me at the 
Palace.” 


i6 


THE KING’S REGISTRAR 


By this time they had entered the house and seated 
themselves on the settle in the drawing-room. But 
Lucy leaped up and began again her elfin dance, weav¬ 
ing in and out among the chairs and tables and pirouet¬ 
ting and curtsying like a maid on the village green. 

“No, no!” she cried. “It’s something much better 
than that. You’re going to be grand, I tell you; and 
all the maids will look at you as you ride past; and I 
shall say—‘Isn’t he fine in—in all his pretty clothes? 
He’s my Cousin.’ ” 

“Pretty clothes?” began Myles. “I wonder-” 

“Oh, I almost told you after all,” gasped Lucy, 
“and there comes Father now. Now mind—you don’t 
know a thing about it. If you do, he’ll scold.” 

Myles had just time to nod in reply when the door 
opened and his uncle entered. Master Dalr3miple too 
was glowing of face and evidently bursting with his 
news. 

“Aha! there you are, sirrah,” he began, beamingly, 
“I have some news for you, you lucky dog. Egad! 
If I’d had such a chance at your age, I might by this 
have been Lord Chamberlain. But tell me first how 
stand you in your exercises at La Salle’s? Can you 
handle sword and pistol like a gentleman?” 

“Passing well, sir,” answered Myles, who had risen 
at his uncle’s entrance and now stood at respectful 
attention. “To-day I somewhat bested Arthur Hins¬ 
dale at the foils.” 

“Arthur Hinsdale!” exclaimed Uncle James. “Why! 

17 



THE TORCH BEARERS 


I have heard he was the best at swordplay of all the 
lads that attend there. Monsieur la Salle said so 
himself. And often I have heard Sir William boast 
of the lad as a swordsman born.” 

“Yes, sir, but to-day, perhaps by good luck, I had 
the better of him.” 

“Well, well!” returned Uncle James, rubbing his 
hands gleefully, “thafs very well indeed, for I had 
already claimed as much for you when one inquired 
as to your progress. And here we are to our good 
news! What say you, lad, to a lieutenant’s commis¬ 
sion in the Buckingham Guards ?” 

“A commission?” exclaimed Myles, “Why! I have 
never thought of it. And I supposed the officers of 
the King’s Guard were taken from most noble and 
wealthy families, and that, indeed, such places were 
much contended for.” 

“So they are,” cried his uncle, who was now strid¬ 
ing importantly about the room, while Lucy had re¬ 
sumed her elfin antics as a dance of triumph, “so they 
are. Master Delaroche; but I have some influence with 
Lord Hampton, I can tell you. ’Tis now four weeks 
I have worked upon the plan, and but to-day I have 
succeeded. To-morrow morning I introduce you to 
Colonel Lord Hampton at the Palace, and before night 
the tailors shall be at work on your uniform. ’Tis 
something, I can say, to know one’s way about at the 
Court and to have a reputation like mine for loyalty 
and sound judgment” 


i8 


THE KING’S REGISTRAR 


Myles stood for a moment looking steadily at his 
uncle without making reply. His mind was a battle¬ 
ground of contending desires and ambitions. Before 
him was the necessity for the hardest choice he had 
ever yet made. On the one side were rank and posi¬ 
tion, the applause of his comrades and of these friends 
so anxious to aid him, and the opportunity for what 
might become a brilliant career. On the other side 
were poverty and obscurity, estrangement from his 
London friends and the making of his way alone. 
For choosing the hard and dubious road there was 
no reason save one so fantastic to the general view 
that he well knew most men of the world would laugh 
it to scorn. Yet half a minute had not passed ere 
his decision was made. 

^‘Uncle James,” he said, hoarsely, ‘T cannot accept 
this commission.” 

Master Dalrymple stopped short and wheeled about 
toward the speaker. His plump face, naturally ruddy 
with health and good living, turned red as fire. 

^‘What’s that?” he gasped. 

Lucy’s fandango came to an abrupt end, and she 
grasped a chairback for support while she stared with 
great eyes at Myles as if she feared he had lost his 
mind. 

*T can’t take this commission,” repeated the miser¬ 
able youth, ‘‘or any commission under the King. I— 
I suppose you won’t understand me—but I’m going to 
try to make you. I can’t make oath to support the 

19 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


King—and accept his money for my service—while 
he rules the land in defiance of the law and in con¬ 
travention of the rights of Englishmen. He has 
levied taxes without the consent of the Commons. He 
has made the Courts his servants instead of the guard¬ 
ians of the people’s rights, and he has over and again 
thrown men into prison against whom no legal charges 
have been made.” 

With his eyes fixed and staring, Master Dalrymple 
had listened to this amazing speech while his coun¬ 
tenance slowly turned to a purple hue and the veins 
stood out like twisted and knotted cords on his temples. 
At last words seemed to burst from him, like the mis¬ 
siles from an exploding bomb. 

‘‘Thou Roundhead cur! Dost know that the Tower 
and the block await those that speak such treason? 
And rightly too, sirrah. By Heaven, if thou wert 
not the nephew of my wife that’s dead and gone. I’d 
have the Watch here forthwith.” 

“Don’t, Father,” cried Lucy piteously, “I cannot 
bear it You’ll bring on a stroke like Uncle Jeremy.” 

But Master Dalrymple paid no heed to her, and 
continued his shouting tirade with an accompaniment 
of furious gestures. 

“Thou’lt be a lawyer, forsooth, and skulk behind 
a desk whil’st others fight for Church and King. 
And hast good blood too, as any in the West Thou’lt 
make thy ancestors turn in their graves for very 
shame.” 


20 


THE KING’S REGISTRAR 


‘‘Sir,” said Myles, proudly, “the first Delaroche was 
he who fought against King John, four centuries ago. 
And if our family chronicles tell the truth of it, he 
was born in a forester’s cottage, and risked his all for 
these very rights of common men that now another 
King of England tramples on. If bad goes on to 
worse, in England here—as, with the King’s obstinacy 
and proneness to listen to unwise counselors, is likely 
to happen—I think I will not shame my ancestor if I 
draw sword myself in a cause so like to his.” 

So choked with fury did James Dalrymple become 
at this incredible defiance that for ten seconds after he 
essayed to reply naught issued from his mouth but 
inarticulate growls and hisses. At last, however, he 
spoke plainly and in a voice to shake the doors: 

“Get out of my house, thou Roundhead dog. Thou 
and thy sectary counselors and ragamuffin statesmen 
will defy the Lord’s Anointed, will ye, and set up some 
ranting hedge preacher to govern in his stead! By all 
the Imps of Tophet! I’ll have the constables here if 
you make not haste.” 

Lucy came and took her father by the arm and drew 
him toward a chair. Turning to Myles, she half 
whispered: 

“Go, Myles. Go at once. I am afraid for him.” 

Myles instantly turned away and passed to the upper 
chamber which had been his. Ten minutes later, hav¬ 
ing donned hat and cloak and sword, he left the house 
with a small bundle, containing all the rest of his pos- 


21 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


sessions, strapped like a knapsack on his back. At the 
corner of the lane he stopped for some minutes and 
looked back at the lighted windows, hoping to catch 
a glimpse of Lucy, but could see only the figure of his 
uncle that rapidly passed and repassed the great win¬ 
dow. At last the young Puritan turned his face to 
the west and strode away into the darkness. 

He had traversed not more than a square or two 
before he heard running feet behind him. Wheeling 
swiftly about, he clutched the hilt of his weapon, ready 
to draw if his pursuer proved to be one of the foot¬ 
pads so common on the darker streets and lanes of 
London. Of these it was said there were many who 
would kill a man for half a crown. But his follower 
was no other than Cousin Lucy, who now sprang for¬ 
ward and clutched his arm, sobbing the while and 
exclaiming over this miserable ending of a happy 
day. 

‘‘Oh, Myles!” she gasped, “how could you do it? 
To talk so of the King himself—and to Father too! 
How could you do it ?” 

“I had to say what was true,” answered Myles, 
grimly. 

“Oh, no, you didn^t—not then, anyway. And Pll 
never forgive you for it. But now—youTe going 
home, I suppose. And you haven’t a bit of money, I 
know. So I brought what I had. Here’s five guineas, 
in a little silk purse I made myself.” 

“Lucy,” answered Myles, proudly, “I cannot take 


22 


THE KING’S REGISTRAR 


any money from my uncle after what has been said 
to-night” 

^‘Oh, but this isn’t from Father. It’s from me” 

“It comes to the same thing. No, Lucy, it was 
fine of you to bring it; but I can’t take it. Give me 
a kiss instead for good will, and I’ll do well enough.” 

Lucy dutifully held up her face for the cousinly 
salute; and, in the very instant of receiving it, dropped 
the purse into Myles’ coat pocket. This strategy was 
not to succeed, however, for Myles instantly felt the 
weight of the gold and so plucked out the purse and 
crowded it back into her hand. 

“No, Lucy,” he said with a smile, “I cannot take 
it. And so let it be. Now let us walk back to where 
I can see you go safely within doors, and then I must 
be on my way. I intend to sleep at Harrison’s to¬ 
night.” 

“But that’s twelve miles away,” she pouted. 

“Yes—twelve miles nearer home for me.” 

“Oh, well, then,” said Lucy, suddenly seeming less 
downhearted, “if you’ve made up your mind, I suppose 
there’s no turning you. And now I must get back 
to Father.” 

Five minutes later, Myles turned his face westward 
for the second time, and began his journey toward 
the little inn at Chesney, where he had determined to 
■snend the night. 


CHAPTER III 


HEATHERINGTON ROAD 

M iYLES made but a short night of it at 
Harrison’s. It was ten o’clock when 
he came into the yard of the little inn 
and bargained for supper and bed; and by five in 
the morning he was again astir. With the rising 
sun casting its shadow a hundred paces along 
the path before him, he passed out of the village, and 
while the cocks were still crowing, was traversing the 
slopes and windings and the long, hedge-lined vistas 
of Heatherington Road. 

Travelers were few at this hour, and though in the 
farmyards the plowmen were yoking their cattle, and, 
beyond the second hedge, a milkmaid drove her cows 
afield, the dew on the wayside grass was as yet un¬ 
disturbed, and the young Puritan walked for miles 
without meeting any with whom to exchange the 
greetings of the morning. 

And it was a morning to lift the heart of youth— 
with a soft, blue sky, a glancing sun and a wind from 
over the moorlands that blew away all hovering cares 
and vain regrets like smoke wreaths from a mountain 
side. The air was filled with the mingled odors of 

24 



HEATHERINGTON ROAD 


newly springing grass and flowers and of the swelling 
fruit buds in the orchards. From the tops of way- 
side oaks or yews, the bluebirds sweetly chirped and 
trilled; and robin-red-breasts flashed over the path 
and among the apple trees bearing twigs or straws 
for the nesting. 

The roadbed, still damp with the heavy rain that 
had fallen two days before, was smooth enough for 
youthful feet, and a grateful change from the cobble¬ 
stones and broken flagging of the town. For four or 
flve hours Myles strode onward with but few pauses 
for rest and no least thought of hardship in the fortune 
that had thus set him to travel afoot across the breadth 
of England with half a crown in his pocket and with¬ 
out a friend on the way. 

It was nearly eleven oVlock when he sat down by 
a beech tree on the bank of a stream, to eat some of 
the bread and cheese which the landlady at Harrison’s 
had insisted on his taking when she learned he meant 
to walk the thirty miles to Eversham before sunset. 
This fortunate provision was to have constituted his 
midday meal; but he had not counted on the appe¬ 
tite of a cross-country marcher. The parcel which 
had seemed a large and awkward one when first he 
received it now became most light and trifling; and 
when he had once started eating he hardly paused 
for breath till the last crumb had been devoured. 

A long drink of the clear brook water was sweeter 
than any wine; and while he sat reckoning the dis- 

25 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


tance he had already covered, which he believed to be 
a good half of his day's journey, he had a sense of 
well-being that made it seem most excellent to be 
alive. But when it seemed time to go on, he found, 
to his great surprise, that his strongest impulse was 
to lie down for a nap beneath the tree rather than to 
bestir himself to put more miles behind him. The 
hill that rose before him seemed much steeper than 
any he had thus far encountered and the roadbed more 
roughly strewn with ruts and stones. His light-soled 
boots had never been intended for such rough travel; 
and for half a year he had had no occasion to walk 
more than a mile or two at a time. When at last 
he rose and took the road again, both his feet pro¬ 
tested strongly, telling plainly enough of blisters newly 
formed. 

The night before, after he had left his uncle's 
house, he had thought of searching out the residence 
of his legal patron and instructor, old Marcus Denby, 
and asking for a loan sufficient for his journey. But 
this idea had been almost instantly rejected. Squire 
Denby, as he well knew, though of most liberal habit 
in his better days, had now for some years had much 
ado to make ends meet with the proceeds of his 
dwindling practice, and was thus not a person from 
whom it was fitting to make such a request. With the 
exception of his comrades at the fencing school—to 
whom he would not have applied had he been starv¬ 
ing—he had no other acquaintance in London. He 

26 


HEATHERINGTON ROAD 


had indeed given little thought to the money question, 
for in his anger at his uncle’s loud abuse, he had been 
in haste to shake the dust of the town from his feet. 

Now he resolved to stop at the next large town and 
try to find employment as a clerk or copyist until he 
should have accumulated enough money for his pur¬ 
pose. He had copied numerous documents in the office 
of the good Squire Denby, and had even been in¬ 
trusted with the original drafting of some of the 
simpler legal papers. Such work he was sure he could 
satisfactorily perform, for he was of accurate habit 
and wrote a plain, round hand. But he remembered 
also the beggarly stipend which was commonly paid 
to such copyists, and the lean and poverty-stricken ap¬ 
pearance of such as he had seen applying at solicitors’ 
offices for this kind of work. Turning these things 
in his mind, he wondered grimly whether the spring, 
and the summer too, would not have passed before he 
could gather sufficient funds in this way, above the 
cost of his living, to defray horse hire and inn charges 
on his way t© the West. Even if he could proceed at 
once and on horseback, the journey would require 
five or six days, for, at this season of the year, as he 
now remembered, there were many long stretches of 
the road which would be little better than quagmires. 

Thus mentally rehearsing his problems, Myles went 
forward resolutely, and after a mile or so could par¬ 
tially forget the blisters and was arguing to himself 
that they would not grow worse as he proceeded. But 

27 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


this hope proved delusive, for half an hour had not 
passed before, coming to another brooklet, he was 
obliged to pull off his boots and socks and relieve his 
aching feet by bathing them in the cool stream. 

Sitting on a stone by the water’s edge, he began to 
review in earnest his hastily formed plan of walking 
the hundred and fifty miles to Grimsby. Already it 
was evident that the bread and cheese he had brought 
from Chesney would be woefully inadequate to sate 
his robust appetite even for another hour, and that he 
would surely halt at the next wayside inn and buy a 
meal the price of which would dangerously reduce his 
resources. 

As he slowly drew on his boots, which seemed to 
have sadly shrunken, and resumed his painful trudging 
toward distant Eversham, he was considering another 
plan which, at first thought, seemed more promising. 
He had for several years before his coming to London 
borne an important part in the work on his farms at 
Grimsby; he loved to drive horses or cattle for the 
moving of stone or timber and was a skilled plowman 
and sower. On his journey to London the previous 
autumn he had noted with keen interest the farming 
operations to be seen along the way; and during many 
winter evenings at his uncle’s house had studied a 
number of books of a kind then new to the world— 
books in which the tillage of the soil was treated as 
an art worthy of the best intelligence and which de¬ 
tailed many improvements in methods hitherto un- 

28 


HEATHERINGTON ROAD 


known to all save a few enthusiasts. Now Myles 
thought of this knowledge as a possible resource; and, 
in utter indifference to the fixed ideas of society as 
to the occupations permitted to the son of a baronet, 
wondered whether it would be well to apply at the 
first large and prosperous estate for employment as a 
farm overseer or foreman during the planting season. 
Further reflection, however (doubtless made less hope¬ 
ful by the continued protests of his blistered heels), 
led to the conclusion that such work would in all prob¬ 
ability be little better paid than that of the wretched 
copyists he had been pitying; and that the savings from 
such wages would be long in mounting to the sum of 
which he stood in need. 

By this time he was limping sorely, but he still re¬ 
fused to think of any other destination than the one 
he had set that morning. He would reach Eversham 
by some means before dark; and during the night 
would come to some conclusion as to his further course. 
From time to time he met travelers on horseback or 
some slow-moving farm-cart laden with wood or 
hay; and when this happened he strode firmly for¬ 
ward, regardless of his blisters, lest some should take 
pity on him as unfortunate and offer assistance. Then, 
when the passers-by were out of sight, his gait would 
again become like that of one who treads bare-soled 
on flinty paths and therefore picks his way most care¬ 
fully. So was he walking when suddenly he heard 
the hoofs of horses behind him, telling of other trav- 

29 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


elers; and again, and without looking around, he 
squared his shoulders and marched determinedly on¬ 
ward. 

“Hola! Myles Delaroche!” came a cheerful and 
ringing voice, ^‘what do you here? Is’t a wager?” 

Myles wheeled about and beheld, riding toward him 
on a handsome cob, and leading a second horse by a 
long halter rein, no other than Arthur Hinsdale. 

“Hola, Master Hinsdale!” he answered as steadily 
as his surprise would permit, “I am walking to Ever- 
sham—and beyond. Do you journey in that direc¬ 
tion ?” 

Hinsdale had now come abreast of Myles, and, halt¬ 
ing, leaned eagerly forward in his saddle toward the 
youth whom but the day before he had so bitterly men¬ 
aced and insulted. But now a happy smile was on 
his face, and his black eyes sparkled with animation. 
Myles had never before so clearly realized how comely 
was the young Londoner’s countenance. 

“By the Bones of Saint Peter!” exclaimed Arthur 
joyfully, “I do indeed. This nag I have here on halter 
I won on a wager three days since; and now I take 
him to Hinsdale where I purpose to ride him to hounds 
at a later season. And now, Delaroche, you are well 
met indeed; for if you go beyond Eversham, you can 
do me a right friendly turn if you will. It’s a weary 
task, after all, leading a somewhat mettled nag like 
this for that many miles; and perhaps I would have 
done better to bring some one who would have ridden 

30 


HEATHERINGTON ROAD 


him instead. Now, since you go my way, why should 
you not mount here and relieve me of this leading 
string 

“Why, I will do so and gladly,” answered Myles. 
“And ’twill be a greater service that you do me than 
any I perform for you; for truly I have come quite 
far enough to satisfy my will for footing it to-day; 
and a good horse between my knees will be most wel¬ 
come.” 

Suiting the action to the word, he seized the pom¬ 
mel of the saddle on the led horse and lightly mounted. 
His limbs seemed to have received a new supply of 
energy, and he laughed aloud to think of this sudden 
change of circumstance. Hinsdale released his halter 
rein and flung it aside, and the former rivals, now on 
most comradely footing, went forward at an easy trot. 

After they had ridden in silence for a mile or more, 
Arthur broke into a hunting song, and Myles who had 
heard the tune at a somewhat convivial party, held at 
his uncle’s house only the week before, joined in 
bravely on the refrain: 

A hunting we will go, 

A hunting we will go, 

Tantivy! Tantivy! Tantivy! 

A hunting we will go. 

At the moment they were passing through a stretch 
of wooded land where ancient oaks and beeches met 
over the road to form an arch of interlacing branches 

31 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


through which the sunbeams glanced most merrily. 
At this early season, the leaves were like tiny flowerets 
of yellow-green, and cast but little shade on the ground 
beneath. As their song came to a close, Hinsdale’s 
arm shot out to point the course of a hare that, roused 
from its covert by the resounding chorus, now bounded 
away among the greenery. 

“Zounds!” he cried, “ ’tis a day to make one for¬ 
get Dull Care and all his dismal little Imps and Devils. 
And even you, Delaroche, solemn Puritan that you 
are, can lend a voice to a merry song in a bonny 
woodland glade like this. I’ll warrant that, for all 
your dull gray coat and bookworm ways, you’d like 
nothing better at this moment than to ride that nag 
you now bestride in the wake of a lively brush, with 
half a hundred lusty hounds whooping alongside.” 

Myles laughed ringingly, and made his mount 
prance and curvet a bit for the pure joy of horseman¬ 
ship. Arthur’s gay spirits were infectious; and the 
whole world was brighter since his coming. But after 
a moment the Westerner replied, with all his usual 
seriousness: 

“Nay, Hinsdale, I have no grudge against a merry 
song or a good play either—so it hath some sense and 
reason—and is not all of fiddle-faddle and Merry 
Andrew work. Puritans my people are, and so, in a 
sense, am I; but in a world that has so much of labor 
and sorrow, I see no reason for refusing such harm¬ 
less joys as come our way. I am no follower of Mas- 

32 


HEATHERINGTON ROAD 


ter Israel Bodkin, the minister of the chapel in Fleet 
Street, who will have it that pleasure is the Devil's 
snare, and who preaches against the bear baiting in 
the park, not, forsooth, because ’tis pain and death to 
the dogs and bears, but because it gives delight to the 
people. And yet I like it scarcely better, I can tell 
you, that a clergyman of our Established Church 
should wager half his year’s stipend at the horse racing 
and later, having made great winnings which must be 
celebrated with his companions of the day, have need 
to be put to bed by the men servants at the inn like 
any red-nosed squire. And this I saw myself last 
racing day.” 

‘‘By Jupiter!” responded Arthur, “you yield my 
point indeed; and seize the chance to give me in the 
same breath what I doubt not is a most wholesome 
sermon. I very much fear, Delaroche, that you are 
hopelessly solemn and blink-eyed, and that I shall 
never be able to reform you. And ’tis a pity too, 
for all that’s needed is to forget the grubbers and the 
groaners and to see the good old world as it is. 

Oh, a quick-spent life and a merry one! 

A lusty lad and a gallant one! 

A saucy maid and a pretty one! 

And a tankard of good brown ale! 

“But what is this we see where the road makes into 
the open? If I mistake not, that is a village of some 
pretension a mile or two beyond; and, if so, we will 

33 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


doubtless find there a passing good inn. I hope so 
most ardently, for I am that empty with five hours 
of riding that if I feel what should be my waistband, 
I touch naught but my backbone. Come, let's ride, be¬ 
fore I perish utterly." 

“I must be careful," said Myles as they put their 
mounts to the canter, ‘‘to dine where charges are 
modest, for, truth to tell, I’m none too well provided 
for this journey." 

“Ho!" answered his comrade, gayly, “give your¬ 
self no worry on that score. So long as you ride 
with me and save me from haltering that nag. I’ll 
gladly pay all charges at the inns and elsewhere. Gold 
has no better use than to be spent; and that the dourest 
Puritan of you all can never deny." 

Fetching a well-filled purse from his pocket, the 
young Cavalier tossed it aloft among the branches in 
seeming utter recklessness, yet so well managed the 
cast withal that he caught it deftly as it fell, and re¬ 
stored it to his waistcoat as by a single motion. 

“Good friend," answered Myles, laughingly, “gold 
is truly meant to serve us, as you say; but if you so 
display it where thieves and cutthroats may see, it may 
not serve us long. Prithee, keep it hidden till the 
reckoning’s presented." 

“Thou’rt right again. Wise Counselor," answered 
Arthur with a soberer countenance. “And that re¬ 
minds me of another way in which your company on 
this journey will be worth far more to me than any 

34 


HEATHERINGTON ROAD 


trifling charges I defray. If any such knaves as those 
you speak of should set upon us on the road or at the 
inns, such a sword as you wield—as none know bet¬ 
ter than 1—would be of right gallant service. In 
truth, I think that between us we would speedily give 
any such curs their just deserts.’^ 

“Let us hope so,” answered Myles gravely, “al¬ 
though that sort may be beforehand with pistol or 
blunderbuss. But does not that swinging sign we 
see a half mile before us betoken an inn? If so, I 
have myself a keen forethought of roasted beef and 
pudding and of your pretty purse becoming some¬ 
what lighter ere we ride on.” 

At this, Arthur spurred his horse madly forward, as. 
though to seize some priceless treasure. The good 
horse that Myles was riding instantly sprang after 
him, so that they thundered along the smooth road 
like a finish at Epsom Downs. A minute later the 
two friends drew up, amid a scurry of ducks and 
hens, in the yard of the Tewksbury Arms, and flung 
their bridle reins to the waiting hostler. 

Very shortly thereafter they were seated in a large, 
cool room of which the latticed windows opened on a 
tiny walled orchard where the buds of cherry and 
peach were just bursting into bloom. On a plate of 
polished pewter in the center of the table between 
them, lay a good brown loaf of wheaten bread, all 
fragrant from the oven, flanked on the one side by a 
jug of cold and creamy milk and on the other side by 

35 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


a pat of butter, fresh from the well house. Just beyond 
was a steaming dish of boiled turnips and greens and 
another and smaller one of baked potatoes. A gener¬ 
ous portion of sliced Yorkshire pudding, with a little 
pitcher of clotted cream, awaited the meed of heart¬ 
felt praise which in due course it would receive. And 
when the worthy hostess appeared, in snowy cap and 
apron, bearing on a huge platter a juicy and fragrant 
sirloin roast, the joyous anticipations of the two youtli- 
ful travelers passed all decorous bounds, and they 
gave vent to their emotions in whoops of applause. 
As Myles set himself to do justice to this noble re¬ 
past, he found that all his troubles had vanished. 
Arthur was flourishing the huge carving knife like a 
juggler at the fair; and both their faces shone like 
those of hungry urchins at a Christmas feast 


CHAPTER IV 


ROUNDHEAD AND CAVALIER 

T he comrades sat for an hour at this cheer¬ 
ful board; and, after their first sharp hunger 
was abated and the beef platter pushed aside 
to make room for the pudding and cream, they inter¬ 
spersed the feast witli many a merry song and story. 
In conclusion, the brawny-armed hostess placed be¬ 
fore each of them a cup of steaming, black coffee 
and stayed to ask what wine they would drink. 

The mug of home-brewed ale which had been 
served with the meat was quite sufficient for Myles; 
but when the coffee had been despatched, Arthur 
wished still to linger and to broach a bottle of Bur¬ 
gundy, if the inn afforded such, in honor of this their 
first meal together. But Myles’ attention had been 
caught by the sound of a raucous voice that was up¬ 
lifted in the yard outside. To this interruption he 
the more readily gave heed because it gave opportunity 
for disregarding Arthur’s suggestion. The young 
Puritan was, both by temper and by conviction, averse 
to all excess in matters of food and drink; and remem¬ 
bering Arthur’s flushed face and exaggerated manner 
on one or two afternoons at Monsieur la Salle’s, it 

37 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


seemed to him the part of friendship to exert upon 
his companion such restraint as he might in this re¬ 
spect So he resolved to draw him away from the 
table, if possible, by diverting his lively mind to other 
interests. 

‘‘Hark!” he said suddenly, raising his head to listen 
to the speaker in the innyard, “Is’t one who stands 
for Parliament in a by-election, think you?” 

Arthur paused and listened also. Then they clearly 
heard the words—uttered in a keen and nasal voice 
that was half a shout and half a groan: “Woe! Woe 
unto them that seek and follow after the idols of 
Babylon. Woe unto the winebibbers, the gamesters, 
the surplice wearers and all those who trample on the 
faithful, thinking to deny them forever the places of 
honor and the goodly things of the earth. Verily they 
shall-” 

Here the voice of the speaker was drowned by a 
rising chorus of approving voices, shouts of Amen and 
other cries and groans that might be either of applause 
or of derision. Arthur laughed uproariously. 

“Nay, ’tis no election,” he cried. “Though such 
as he would be a worthy comember with Gracious- 
Zeal Tompkins and Tribulation Wholesome in our 
wise and noble Parliament. ’Tis some worthy tailor 
or chimney sweep who, being much moved by the spirit, 
is now pointing to such backsliders and halfway saints 
as you, Myles Delaroche, the straight and narrow way. 
Come, let us hear his message.” 

38 



ROUNDHEAD AND CAVALIER 


Seizing his hat he started fortliwith for the yard. 
Meeting the worthy landlady in the common room, 
he paused to pay the reckoning; and Myles, taking ad¬ 
vantage of this delay, hurried out to the stables and 
called to the hostler to bring forth their mounts. 

In a moment the two friends were standing on the 
outskirts of a small crowd of farmers, artisans and 
serving people who surrounded an impassioned orator 
who now declaimed with alternate groans and shouts 
from the horse block near the road. They learned 
from one of the inn servants that this was no other 
than Hezekiah Busby, the Gifted Tinker, who traveled 
on foot about the country, mending the pots and pans 
of the inns and alehouses and addressing such gather¬ 
ings as this. Myles had heard of him as a hedge 
preacher whose power over the country folk was such 
as more than once had made him a leader of mobs in 
scenes of fanatic violence. He claimed the power of 
healing the sick by the laying on of hands, and, in 
particular, of exorcising witches and recovering their 
victims from malignant spells. All the emphasis in 
his preaching lay in his frightful denunciations of ‘*the 
worshipers of Baal,” among whom he included all the 
Established Clergy and apparently every one in the 
Kingdom who had either wealth or position. 

His wiry hair was cropped close to his skull; and 
this served to bring into prominence his huge, red ears, 
which stood out from his head like the wings of a 
bat His discourse was interspersed with gestures 

39 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


so wild and violent that they amounted to contortions, 
and by grimaces that sometimes gave to his long and 
bony face the look of a fool and sometimes that of a 
madman. On three or four small boys at one side 
of the gathering, these postures and grimaces exer¬ 
cised a fearful fascination; they were comical and 
frightful both; and the wide-eyed lads could hardly 
decide whether to remain and laugh, as at the juggler 
who performed on the green, or to run for safety as 
from a dancing bear that had broken from his keeper. 

Some of the older auditors seemed likewise divided 
between the impulse to laugh at the extravagances of 
the orator and to cower before his fearful prophecies. 
But the greater portion of the crowd were plainly in 
sympathy with his beliefs and aims, and did not hesi¬ 
tate to encourage him by yells and groans and cries 
of ^^Amen, Brother, Amen!'', ''Smite the Egyptians," 
"Amen, Verily!" and by giving the closest attention 
to his harangue. 

Myles Delaroche had little taste for this form of 
preaching, although it was much in favor with some 
of the most zealous among the Puritans. Such antics 
as these seemed to him fitter for apes than for men; 
he was disgusted with these howling fanatics who 
brought ridicule on all efforts at reform; and he only 
waited an opportunity to get his companion away from 
the crowd and on the high road again. It was clear, 
however, that Hinsdale had no intention of leaving 
so hurriedly a scene which promised good sport. He 

40 


ROUNDHEAD AND CAVALIER 


crowded forward close to the horse block, and, with 
a merry twinkle in his eye, yet seemed to mark every 
word and gesture of the speaker. It was not long 
before his plumed hat and waving ringlets caught the 
rolling gaze of the sectary, and these symbols of lux¬ 
ury and vanity at once drew the full fire of his denun¬ 
ciation. 

“And THOU, Son of Baalhe shouted, thrusting 
his hand violently toward Arthur and pointing a long 
and somewhat grimy finger at his head, like a pistol, 
“wilt thou persist in thy idolatry? Or wilt thou take 
warning and turn from thy wickedness ere the pillar 
of fire descends upon thee as upon Sodom and Gomor¬ 
rah 

The pointing finger had turned every face in the 
crowd toward the young Cavalier; and some caught 
their breaths at this bold challenging of one so evi¬ 
dently of birth and position. But the dramatic force 
of the invective was wholly lost by reason of the un¬ 
expected and ridiculous behavior of him against whom 
it had been directed. The instant the pointed finger 
singled him out, Arthur crouched to his knees in 
pretended fright, and threw up his elbow before him 
as if to ward a missile from his head. As Busby 
went on speaking, the youth apparently regained his 
courage, and straightened up by degrees, peeking over 
his arm at the preacher with the face of an urchin 
who from behind a wall has flung a snowball at a 
passer-by. The serving maids and two or three loung- 

41 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


ers began to titter, and the village lads, now sure that 
the occasion was a jovial one, raced around the gath¬ 
ering to Arthur’s side to gaze in delighted expectancy 
at his face. Some of the more serious listeners turned 
sour looks in the direction of the disturber; and Myles, 
knowing well the temper of the Puritan sectaries, ven¬ 
tured a half-whispered warning to his friend not to go 
too far in his foolery. This, however, was uttered 
from smiling lips, for Arthur’s mimicry was irresist¬ 
ibly comical. 

The Gifted Tinker proceeded with his discourse in 
apparent disregard of the byplay which was taking 
so large a share of the attention of his auditors; and 
his condemnations and dire prophecies were for some 
minutes directed as a general broadside against the 
‘‘Hordes of Mammon.” But the presence of this 
individual and flagrant example of Vanity was too 
great a temptation for the fervid orator to resist. 
Again the bony finger shot out in Arthur’s direction; 
and the speaker bellowed: 

“Thou slave of Pleasure and the Evil One! What 
shall it avail thee that thou’rt dressed like a popin¬ 
jay in all the rainbow’s colors? What thy curls and 
jewels and ribbons? What-” 

But here shouts of laughter and of rage drowned 
out his voice. The gathering was in a tumult. At 
this second withering blast, Arthur had run and hidden 
behind Myles, like one who seeks to avoid the jaws 
of a ferocious dog by taking shelter behind the legs 

42 



ROUNDHEAD AND CAVALIER 


of another whom he hopes will receive the attack in¬ 
stead. From that position he was peering out, first 
on one side then on the other, with such mock terror 
on his countenance that all the lighter-minded mem¬ 
bers of the audience yelled and screamed with laugh¬ 
ter. Myles himself was convulsed, but for all that, 
did not forget the danger of clubs and stones in the 
hands of such fanatics as made up a good half of the 
gathering. Whirling swiftly about, he got behind his 
rollicking companion, and seizing both his elbows, 
propelled him willy nilly and at a smart run across 
the inn yard to the side of his horse which the groom 
was still holding. Arthur also was yelling with laugh¬ 
ter; but when they reached the horses, he tried to 
break away from his captor as if to return to the 
crowd that still surrounded the exhorter. At this 
Myles shifting his hold, and catching his friend by 
the back and knees, fairly flung him upward into the 
saddle. An instant later he had mounted also, and 
was spurring toward the road, crowding from his 
path two or three of the preacher’s adherents who 
seemed half disposed to bar his progress. Arthur 
rode willingly enough at his side, but turned in the 
roadway to wave mock farewells to the preacher and 
to doff his plumed hat to the women. 

Pandemonium now reigned in the innyard, for al¬ 
though the sectaries had suffered the horsemen to pass 
unmolested, they turned with fury on those who by 
their laughter had encouraged this reckless disturber 

43 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


of their gathering; and these answered them with 
hoots and yells of derision and insult. As the two 
youths reached the summit of a hill, a furlong from 
the inn, they turned for a last look at the scene tliey 
had left. A general fight was in progress between the 
two parties, with sticks and stones hurtling madly 
through the air and the Gifted Tinker in the midst 
of the fray. Some of the tavern windows were 
broken; and presently the landlady issued from the 
door, and proved, in defense of her property, a very 
Amazon. Summoning her hostlers and other serving- 
men and aided by a few of the soberer bystanders 
with pickets hastily plucked from the garden fence, 
she charged between the two parties, and in a moment 
had scattered them in rout, and remained in trium¬ 
phant possession of the field. 


CHAPTER V 


A WOODLAND FESTIVAL 

W HEN the companions had seen the 
Gifted Tinker and his disciples chased 
away from the tavern premises, they 
turned their horses’ heads again toward Eversham, 
and went down the hill at a smart canter. Arthur 
was laughing and singing by turns, and Myles 
had caught the contagion of his frolicsome mood and 
was smiling broadly at the figure poor Busby had 
made while vainly endeavoring to hold his hearers’ 
attention. The entire scene in the innyard, which, 
under other circumstances, would have given rise to 
reflections none too cheerful as to the rising tide of 
fanaticism in the country, now appeared as mere buf¬ 
foonery and clowning. Not for years had he found 
himself so much in the mood of a schoolboy on a 
stolen holiday. 

The pack which had been strapped on his back was 
now snugly stowed in the saddlebags; his gray woolen 
cloak had been well brushed at the inn and the stains 
of travel removed from his boots, so that his appear¬ 
ance did not present too strong a contrast with that 
of his fashionably clad companion. The horses were 

45 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


still fresh; and it was evident that they would jour¬ 
ney far beyond Eversham before nightfall. This was 
the more likely since Arthur showed himself not at 
all averse to a gallop whenever the road ran smooth 
and level before him, saying in excuse that it would 
be serviceable to know which of his nags had the bet¬ 
ter wind and speed. 

So riding, they passed before three o’clock the vil¬ 
lage at which Myles had planned to spend the night, 
and emerged into region of moor and forest land. 
The air they breathed came now as a fresh and lively 
breeze from distant hills, across the open, furze-grown 
spaces, and now as leaf-and-blossom-scented zephyrs 
from near-by ferny glades. Much of the land was un¬ 
inclosed and deeply wooded. For long distances the 
road was shadowed by the interlacing branches of 
huge old trees, which, as saplings, might have seen 
the glorious array of Richard’s armored knights and 
squires or the green-clad bowmen who followed Robin 
Hood. 

Such beautiful and storied woods were interspersed 
with pastured hills, now freshly green, and with new- 
plowed fields of deep and fragrant loam. All the de¬ 
tails of their tillage that could be seen from the road 
were eagerly observed by one of the travelers. Here 
and there a lusty sower, with slow-advancing tread 
and wide, alternate sweep of arms to left and right, 
was scattering the grain from a sack suspended at his 
waist; a group of hedgers and ditchers trimmed and 

46 


A WOODLAND FESTIVAL 


delved at the boundaries; and yokes of patient cattle 
hauled great loads of wood or stone or smoothed the 
new-sown ground by dragging over it a giant brush of 
untrimmed trees. 

For a quarter of an hour they had been riding at a 
foot pace past a wooded tract, inclosed by a high 
stone wall, which Hinsdale said was a portion of 
Heatherington Park, the private demesne of Sir Hil¬ 
ary Buell of Heatherington. Presently they heard 
tlie sound of music and of many gay voices, and, com¬ 
ing to the lodge gates, halted to gaze at a scene of 
gayety within. In the open wood beyond, a hundred 
or more richly dressed ladies and gentlemen disported 
themselves in games and dances, children played at 
hide and seek, and liveried servants hurried to and 
fro, bearing refreshment for the assembled guests, or 
benches and cushions for their comfort. 

‘‘By my soul!” cried Arthur, “ ’tis the Spring Fete 
of Heatherington. We are in famous luck to have 
chanced upon it, for here will be sport indeed.’’ 

“Aye,” answered Myles, “but to this festival we 
have no invitation; and if we rode in upon it, ’tis like 
our welcome would be scant.” 

“Never fear for that,” laughed the other. “I know 
Sir Hilary and Lady Buell full well; and they have 
pressed me to make stop at Heatherington whenever 
I chanced to be near. Come, I’ll introduce you, and 
you shall see how they will welcome any friend of 
mine.” 


47 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


Myles would have objected further, but by this time 
Arthur was riding through the gates, and there was 
naught to do but follow. Within the grove they tied 
their horses to saplings, and soon stood before Sir 
Hilary and his wife who were receiving a group of 
late arrivals. As Arthur had predicted, they gave to 
him and his comrade most cordial welcome, and 
urged them to partake of cakes and wine from a 
bounteously spread table that was near at hand 
and later to view all the games and spectacles of the 
festival. 

Together the travelers made the rounds of the grove 
and watched by turns the dancers who bowed and 
curtseyed to the sound of viols, harps and flutes, the 
bowlers at ninepins on a strip of hard-packed earth 
which served for a green, and a pair of lusty youths 
at swordplay with long French foils and full accouter¬ 
ment of masks and guards. These last were sur¬ 
rounded by an eager throng of merrymakers, who 
broke into loud applause at every hit by either con¬ 
testant; and Myles and Arthur stood for long on a 
hillock near by, closely noting every well-made pass 
and parry. 

At last the comrades joined a larger crowd that 
was gathered in a semicircle before a rustic stage 
erected in a little dell which formed a natural amphi¬ 
theater. The performance was already in progress; 
and so beautiful was the woodland setting and so 
brightly clad and vivacious the actors, that Myles most 

48 


A WOODLAND FESTIVAL 


eagerly sought a place which would allow him per- 
feet seeing and hearing. 

The play was “A Midsummer Night’s Dream.” One 
of Sir Hilary’s daughters had the part of Hermia and 
another that of Helena, while a little black-eyed maid 
of fourteen, who strongly reminded Myles of Lucy 
Dalrymple, was Titania, queen of the fairies. 

Myles had several times attended the theater in Lon¬ 
don with his uncle and cousin, and in some of the 
performances had found a keen delight. But never 
before had he seen women on the stage; for, in all the 
plays that he had witnessed the female parts were 
taken by men or boys. And now he realized with a 
shock of surprise how much the art of the theater had 
been losing by this narrowing of its resources. For 
here were beautiful women of gentle birth and breed¬ 
ing, with voices sweetly attuned by Nature, who had 
little need for artifice and counterfeiting to enact the 
roles of other noble maidens of a bygone time, and 
who therefore sustained and heightened the play’s il¬ 
lusion as no masculine actors of such parts could ever 
hope to do. Myles gazed enchanted,—feeling that 
now for the first time he beheld the vision of the dram¬ 
atist. All, and more than all, that the performance 
lacked in professional skill was compensated for by 
the personal adaptation of the performers to their 
parts. 

Standing by a beech trunk and gazing with all his 
eyes at the entrancing scene, the young Puritan lost 

49 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


all sense of time and place, and for an hour and more 
lived only in the dream world of the poet’s fantasy. 
At a shifting of the scenes, he looked about and for 
the first time missed his companion. But it seemed 
most probable that Arthur was conversing in some of 
the animated groups on the other side of the gather¬ 
ing; and Myles, with his thoughts on the play, gave 
little heed to his absence. A half hour later, however, 
when the green silk hangings which served for cur¬ 
tains were drawn across the stage in token of finale, 
Myles looked somewhat anxiously among the scat¬ 
tering audience, for his Cavalier friend was nowhere 
to be seen. Straightway he began a search among the 
chatting and laughing groups into which the festival 
had resolved itself. Moving rapidly and closely 
scanning each successive party that he met, he had 
nearly made a circuit of the grove before he was suc¬ 
cessful. 

Arthur was sitting with two other richly dressed 
young gentlemen at a little table, somewhat withdrawn 
from the most frequented space and rather heavily 
shaded by the closely interwoven branches overhead. 
It was already somewhat dark in the ancient grove; 
and Myles might have passed without recognizing his 
friend had not Arthur’s voice been raised just then 
in high and reckless tones: 

‘‘Aha, Thornley, my buck! The luck’s yours again. 
But here’s nuther goo’ yellow boy will square our 
’counts.” 


50 


A WOODLAND FESTIVAL 


Pulling a guinea from his purse, Hinsdale flung it 
on the table with such a loose and careless hand that 
the coin slid from the edge and fell among the leaves. 
It was quickly recovered by the man who had been 
addressed as Thornley, and who neither asked nor 
received any apology for this careless handling. He 
was a heavy-shouldered fellow with a thick red neck 
and cheeks and small and piglike eyes, and with his 
cheek and lip distorted by a scarce-healed scar. His 
doublet and hose, although of rich material, were 
grossly stained with wine. His companion was the 
picture of a spendthrift younger son, for long aban¬ 
doned to folly and vice, and now grown reckless of 
honor. 

Arthur was holding unsteadily a tiny silver cup in 
his left hand; and he now swept up from the board a 
pair of dice and dropped them within it. As Myles 
approached, he could clearly see by Arthur’s flushed 
face and abrupt and graceless movements that he was 
much the worse for wine; and the young Puritan had 
suflicient knowledge of the ways of the fashionable 
world to enable him to understand the situation at a 
glance. Neither of the other players was more than 
slightly intoxicated; and it was evident that they 
seized the opportunity to fill their pockets with but 
the smallest risk of suffering loss themselves. 

Myles strode forward to a place near the table, and, 
bowing somewhat abruptly to the strangers, addressed 
his comrade: 

51 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


“Come, Hinsdale,’' he urged, “ ’tis high time we 
were on the road again.” 

“O don’ trouble bou’ that,” responded Arthur, 
thickly. “Got finish game—these genelmen.” 

“No,” answered Myles determinedly, advancing and 
laying his hand on Arthur’s shoulder. “You’re not 
in condition for any game. You’re—you’re too tired. 
Come, let’s go on to the inn.” 

Arthur turned pettishly away, and flung another 
gold piece on the board. 

“There’s somethin’ play for,” he said. “See me 
shake the winners now.” 

Throwing down the dice, he peered drunkenly at 
them, then, shaking his head, passed the cup to Thorn- 
ley. Thornley shook in his turn, then the third player. 
As soon as the dice were on the board from this cast, 
Thornley swept up the gold piece. Pocketing this 
with one hand, he seized the dice with the other and 
dropped them into the cup. 

“Come, Arthur,” said Myles, still more shortly, 
“let us go now.” 

Thornley rose from his chair and gazed rudely into 
the face of the young countryman. 

“And who may you be, young sir?” he sneered. 
“Guardian or schoolmaster to our friend, perhaps?” 

“Hoi’ on, Thornley. He’s fren’ o’ mine,” protested 
Arthur, thickly. “He’ll siddown—watch us play.” 

“Guardian enough to save him from such folly as 
this,” said Myles to Thornley in a low, firm tone. 

52 


A WOODLAND FESTIVAL 


‘‘You know well he’s in no condition to match with 
you.” 

“Zounds!” cried Thornley, placing his right hand 
on his sword-hilt, “do you call me a cheat then?” 

His companion had also risen, and now imitated 
Thornley’s threatening gesture. 

“I bandy no names,” answered Myles, somewhat 
more loudly, “but this game shall cease ere my friend 
is stripped of his last guinea.” 

“By all the Imps of Tophet!” roared Thornley. “So 
I’m a cheat, am 1. Damme, but you shall pay well 
for that.” 

Snatching his sword from its sheath, and grinding 
his teeth ferociously, he advanced upon Myles who 
thus far stood with his weapon in its scabbard and 
with his hands at his sides. But the young Westerner 
was far from helpless. With an upward stroke of 
his left arm he thrust aside the threatening blade, and, 
at the same instant, delivered a lightninglike blow with 
his brawny right fist. This collided with his adver¬ 
sary’s chin with sledge-hammer force, and Thornley 
was fairly lifted from the ground. He fell backward 
with a crash, and lay still. Meanwhile Myles had 
whirled on his toes and struck the other gamester 
squarely between the eyes. He too fell in a heap; 
and when Sir Hilary Buell reached the scene with two 
or three of the guests who meant to come between the 
combatants and save bloodshed, Myles was standing, 
with his weapon still in its scabbard, and waiting for 

53 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


either of his victims to rise and renew the fray. Ar¬ 
thur, partly sobered by the sight of this perilous en¬ 
counter, had risen and stood unsteadily at the side 
of his friend. 

“By my faith! young sir,” panted Sir Hilary, “you 
have a fist like the hammer of Thor, and apparently 
have little need for weapons.” 

Myles bowed gravely and replied: 

“I would gladly avoid using them, sir, in any such 
brawl as this. I have no wish for bloodshed, but only 
to prevent undue advantage being taken.” 

By this time the group was closely surrounded 
by nearly all the other men in the grove who 
crowded about to second any effort of their host. Sir 
Hilary spoke again, and loudly, so that all might 
hear: 

“You are right. Master Delaroche. I saw and heard 
a little of this quarrel from a distance; and I blame 
you not at all. Still get you away at once, I pray you, 
and take Hinsdale with you. I see that these brave 
throwers of dice do stir a little already, showing that 
your fist is not altogether mortal. When they recover 
their senses fully, they at least will thirst for blood; 
and such work we cannot have here. We will look to 
them. Pray get you away and quickly.” 

With another bow to Sir Hilary, Myles took Ar¬ 
thur’s arm and led him rapidly toward the horses. In 
a moment they were in saddle and riding through the 
lodge gates. Arthur offered no word of remonstrance, 

54 


A WOODLAND FESTIVAL 


and seemed indeed to submit to Myles’ leadership as 
to that of one having unquestioned authority. Half 
an hour later they rode into the innyard at Bartley, a 
little market village, five or six miles from Heather- 
ington. 


CHAPTER VI 


THE CROSSWAYS 

W HEN the two youths took the road 
on the morning after the Heather- 
ington Fete Arthur was unwontedly 
silent and depressed. He had complained of an aching 
head, and had barely tasted his breakfast eggs and 
bacon; but the sunlight and the brisk April breeze soon 
restored his spirits, and by midday he was laughing 
and singing again. Whenever the road lay level and 
smooth before them for a quarter of a mile, he would 
set spurs to his horse’s sides and shout a challenge to 
his more soberly riding companion to overtake him. 
So alternating between a walking pace and a gallop, 
they rapidly put the miles behind them, and by mid 
afternoon had reached the town a dozen leagues from 
Bartley where they had planned to spend the night. 

For nearly a week they traversed muddy roads and 
narrow bridlepaths, through regions of fertile fields, 
open and wind-swept moors and dark and ancient 
woodlands. They supped and slept at wayside inns 
both good and bad, and dealt with men of many sorts, 
but met with no further adventures. At last, at eleven 
o’clock on a cloudy morning, they came to a cross- 

56 


THE CROSSWAYS 


road where the right hand turning led toward 
Grimsby, some thirty miles to the northwest, while to 
the southwest lay Shrewsbury with Hinsdale Hall 
some miles beyond. 

Where the track divided, Myles leaped down from 
his saddle and extended his hand to his comrade in 
token of farewell. 

‘Wou have greatly aided me, Arthur,” he said 
gravely. ‘‘Without that good horse of yours, my jour¬ 
ney would have been a long one.” 

“Well, and even so,” replied Arthur, while he 
gripped the proffered hand, “why need you stand on 
the ground to say so? If my horse has somewhat 
lightened your way, I am glad indeed. But any serv¬ 
ice of the sort has already been overpaid. I do not 
forget that Tis owing to you that I myself came safely 
through. In another ten minutes that pair of scaven¬ 
gers at Heatherington would have plucked me as bare 
as carrion crows pluck the carcass of a sheep.” 

Myles smiled grimly at the remembrance of the 
scene at the wood fete; but turned at once toward the 
horse he had ridden and began opening the saddle bags 
to remove his belongings. 

“ ’Tis nearly noonday,” he said “and I have thirty 
miles yet to travel. I must say good-by and be on 
my way.” 

“And think you, Myles Delaroche,” cried Hinsdale, 
“that I will let you travel that way afoot? What have 
I horses for?” 


57 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


Myles turned about and faced his comrade. His 
face was grave, but there was a twinkle, nevertheless, 
in his eyes as he replied: 

‘‘Why I suspect Tis not altogether for your own 
good and pleasure. I’ve been thinking somewhat in 
the last day or two, while we made such slow progress 
along these muddy ways; and now I have a question 
to ask of you ere we part. How did it happen, pray 
tell me, that this horse you were leading to Hinsdale 
was ready furnished with saddle and bridle?” 

“Oh!” answered Arthur, his black eyes fairly danc¬ 
ing, “is it not plain that I might have use for those 
also at Hinsdale ?” 

“Aye, but if so, they would more likely have been 
sent by the carter. Now, on your word, Arthur, is 
it not the truth that you had in mind that some one 
might ride with you?” 

Arthur threw back his head and laughed loud and 
long, while Myles, with a broad smile on his face, 
awaited his reply. At last young Hinsdale wiped away 
with the back of his hand the tears that had sprung 
to his eyes with the violence of his laughing, and be¬ 
tween gasps for breath and further chuckles of mer¬ 
riment, made answer. 

“Well, then—if you will have the story, this is the 
way it came about. ’Tis true enough I planned to 
take that nag to Hinsdale; but at that it might have 
been a month ere I started had it not been for you— 
dour Puritan and spoilsport that you are. First there 

58 


THE CROSSWAYS 


was your beating me so soundly at the fencing, and 
my flying into a rage like a schoolboy who has lost 
his marbles, and making such a foolish figure before 
all the lads in the place with talk of running you 
through the body for doing that which I should have 
seen as a service. Then it seems your good Uncle 
Dalrymple had gained for you an opening for which 
I or any of us at La Salle's would have given ten 
years of our lives; and you refused it—just because it 
squared not perfectly with your principles." 

“How knew you that?" demanded Myles. 

“A little bird told me—a right pretty little bird it 
was, as no doubt you'll agree. And I am as loyal to 
the King as any man; but I know that those are not 
all fools or knaves who now oppose him; and I can 
honor a man who acts as a man when it means some 
sacrifice." 

Myles' face reddened, and for a moment he looked 
at the ground at his feet. Then, suddenly raising his 
head, he asked; 

“Was it Lucy Dalrymple who told you?" 

*‘Aye, Lucy—as pretty a lass as there is in Eng¬ 
land to-day. I could wish that she would care but 
half as much for my safety and comfort as 'tis evi¬ 
dent she does for yours.” 

“How came it that she told you of this?" 

“Why, you ungrateful dog! Why should she tell 
me but for your sake? You should be blessing her 
name for the thought. When you left her that night 

59 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


in Surrey Lane, she only entered the house to find a 
housekeeper to attend her. In two minutes she was 
out of doors again and on her way to our place, which, 
as you know, it but three or four squares distant.’’ 

“And did she bid you ride after me?” 

“Aye, that she did; but in that her plan was better 
formed than one would think. It seems she’d learned 
somehow from you that you would lie at Harrison’s 
that night; and her orders were that I should take 
two horses in the morning and ride and overtake you. 
Such a little princess royal is she! I was to do as she 
bade me without question or she would never speak 
to me again.” 

“So, rather than face such wrath, you obeyed.” 

“Aye, for that and for some other reasons. But 
zounds! you must have been early astir, or else you 
walk with the seven-leagued boots. I was away by 
eight o’clock; and passed Harrison’s, where they told 
me the road you had taken, by nine. Over and 
again I thought you must have turned aside some¬ 
where, for I had the nags at a brisk trot all the way; 
and you’ll remember ’twas nearly noon when I came 
upon you. You had marched fifteen miles that morn¬ 
ing and near as much the night before. And blisters! 
Oh, my soul! I knew it when I first clapped eyes on 
you from a quarter of a mile behind. You walked as 
though you trod on eggs. I had a laugh at that that 
paid me for all my early rising, and the haltering of 
that skittish beast for all those miles. I was near 

6o 


THE CROSSWAYS ' 


bursting out again when I came up behind you, and 
you of a sudden straightened up and marched like a 
musketeer in rank and line. Faith! Twas as good 
as a hunt and worth a dozen early risings.^^ 

Arthur began laughing again, and now Myles joined 
him. That he was himself the butt of the joke made 
little difference now that the blisters were healed and 
the journey practically accomplished. But presently 
he answered in mock-serious tone: 

‘‘Well, now that I know how grossly you have de¬ 
ceived me in this, is it fitting, think you, that I any 
longer ride a horse of yours ?” 

Arthur affected deeply to consider this question. 
With scowling brow, he gazed first at the ground then 
at the sky overhead while half a minute passed. Then 
he replied, slowly and solemnly: 

^T cannot to-day reach a decision on so difficult a 
question. But, as you ride toward Grimsby, you may 
give to it your deepest and wisest thought. When you 
have arrived, you may indite to me an epistle, setting 
forth your mature conclusions, and in due course send 
it to me by some groom or plowboy who will ride the 
nag back to Hinsdale. If I find your communication 
unsatisfactory, I will so advise you.’’ 

Myles laughed again, and swung himself into the 
saddle. 

“I will obey your instructions to the letter,” he 
said gravely. “And now good-by, and all good for¬ 
tune go with you.” 


6i 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


From the next hillock, a furlong down the road, 
he looked back toward the crossways, and waved an¬ 
other farewell to his friend whose fluttering white 
handkerchief was just visible where his horse bore 
him at an easy canter along the Shrewsbury road. 


CHAPTER VII 


GRIMSBY MANOR 

J UST as the sun was setting, Myles approached 
the ancient manor house which for some cen¬ 
turies had been the home of his family. This 
was a substantial low-eaved structure of stone with a 
roof of tiling now fallen into disrepair and showing 
the marks of makeshift patching. Between the house 
and the road, what had once been a smoothly graveled 
way whereon four horses could have been ridden 
abreast had been so worn by winter storms and en¬ 
croached upon by grass and shrubs that any party of 
riders must have traversed it in single file and have 
looked well to the footing of their mounts among 
the bare foundation stones. 

The barns and wagon sheds that loomed in the 
rear were yet more neglected, and the roofs of some 
showed gaping holes. Beyond these the tillage and 
mowing fields were bordered with widening fringes 
of briars and saplings, and one or two were covered 
with the dried and dismal stalks of last year’s uncut 
weeds. Four or five cows at early pasturage showed 
by their plump sides that their winter feeding had 
been ample; but this scanty herd, as Myles well knew, 

63 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


was not a tenth of what the manor farm had supported 
in olden time; and the two old plow horses and the 
rough-coated pony that came to the gate as he passed 
were but a sorry remnant of the Grimsby stables. 

Never before had the decay of the family fortunes 
so vividly impressed him. When he had ridden away 
in the fall the old house had seemed a comfortable and 
roomy homestead; its barns with their great, half 
empty mows were abodes of quietness and herby fra¬ 
grance—most snug retreats with a book of chronicles 
or romance on a rainy day—and the fallow fields had 
appeared as gardens of vari-colored bloom. It was 
thus that he had remembered Grimsby when among 
the crowded streets and muddy lanes of London. But 
now he saw it as by the cold gray light of reality. He 
had journeyed twice across the breadth of England, 
and had in his mind the material for comparison. 
Grimsby was slowly falling to ruin. For a moment 
he was shamefacedly glad that Arthur Hinsdale had 
not chosen to accompany him on this last phase of his 
ride, for if he had done so, he must have returned 
with the thought that the house of Delaroche was not 
far removed from beggary. Then, with an impa¬ 
tient shrug of his shoulders, Myles rejected all such 
weak and useless reflections, and turned his thoughts 
to the practical problem before him. Ways must 
surely be found to restore the manor farm to its olden 
state. With his mind thus occupied, he reined his 
borrowed mount up the stony pathway. 

64 


GRIMSBY MANOR 


Three years before, Myles’ elder brother, John, who 
in due course would inherit tlie title and the estate, 
had betaken himself to America, there to occupy some 
vast and vague domain of forest land of which he 
had the grant from the Plymouth Company and by 
means of which he hoped to retrieve the family for¬ 
tunes. Sir Anton Delaroche, with his wife and 
younger son, had remained at Grimsby, administering 
the remnant of the ancestral holdings. These had 
been reduced by a series of improvident or unfortunate 
owners from a domain which a century before had 
comprised some thousands of acres to one that now 
contained hardly as many hundreds. Only two ten¬ 
ant farmers now paid rent at Grimsby Manor; and 
the manor farm itself, depleted as it was, had become 
its owner’s main resource. Four fifths of its area was 
forest and fen land, of little use for pasturage, but 
which for a score of years had furnished a meager 
income from the timber cutting. This resource also 
was now nearly exhausted, for most of the merchant¬ 
able trees had been cut and sold, and three or four 
hundred acres were in sprouts and saplings, most of 
which would not for a generation be fit for anything 
more than firewood. 

Sir Anton had been severely wounded in the wars 
in Flanders, where he had fought in his younger days, 
and for many years had been more than half disabled. 
Sometimes, in clear, warm weather, he would ride his 
ancient pony to oversee some work on the farm or 

6s 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


timber lot, or to meet some old friends with whom he 
discussed the state of the kingdom in the parlor of the 
Whitney Arms at Belford Village. But more often he 
was to be found sitting before the huge old fireplace 
in the hall at the manor, with a volume of history or 
poetry or of the sermons of some great divine. So 
occupied, he could forget for hours together the pangs 
of rheumatism in his half-crippled limbs and the long 
decline of his worldly fortunes. 

Mistress Delaroche, his stately, white-haired wife, 
was of another temper. She still preserved much of 
the queenly bearing that had distinguished her in the 
society of Shrewsbury town a quarter of a century 
before, when James the First was on the throne. With 
the aid of one old serving woman, she kept the house 
immaculate and set forth a bounteous table. To this, 
with its worn but glistening silver and its snowy na- 
pery, they need not hesitate to welcome any old friend 
on whom Dame Fortune had more warmly smiled or 
any chance visitor from Shrewsbury or Belford. In 
twenty-five years at the lonely manor house she had 
not lost touch with the world nor interest in its varied 
doings. The news-letters which arrived two or three 
times a season from the capital had no more eager 
reader. She knew not only of the sermons preached 
in London town, but of the plays and masques that 
held the boards; and it was to her that the neighbors 
came—especially those who like herself had sons over¬ 
seas—for the latest word from the American Colonies. 

66 


GRIMSBY MANOR 


During all his stay in London, Myles had written 
to his mother by every fortnightly post; and, knowing 
well her interests, he had recounted far more than the 
incidents of his daily life or those of his uncle’s house¬ 
hold. By this means both his parents were better in¬ 
formed of the great events of the day and their signifi¬ 
cance in the struggle between King and Commons than 
the inmates of many a lordly household that had its 
seat at a distance from the capital. 

At the stable door the returning traveler was 
warmly greeted by old Laurence, the last of the male 
retainers of the House of Delaroche. Thence hurry¬ 
ing to the house, he surprised his mother and father 
who were just sitting down to their evening meal. 
When Myles had been released from his mother’s 
eager embrace, and was seated at the table opposite the 
great chair of Sir Anton, he proceeded at once and 
straightforwardly to answer their anxious inquiries. 
While the roast cooled on the board, he related the 
whole story of his uncle’s efforts in his behalf, of his 
rejection of the King’s commission and the bitter 
quarrel which ensued. 

Neither of his parents interrupted the tale with any 
comments or questions, and when it was finished the 
old clock on the wall ticked loudly for an interval. 
Then his father said, slowly: 

“By this refusal, Myles, you have ruined your pros¬ 
pects of advancement; and you must now content 
yourself with what is possible with our narrow means 

67 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


at Grimsby. Yet I would not have had you act other¬ 
wise. The King’s encroachments on our rights under 
the law grow worse and worse as years go by. ’Twas 
three months ago John Berwick of Belford was 
thrown into prison for no other offense than that of 
being the leader of the Commons party there, and 
with no warrant save that of the Star Chamber. All 
writs are refused; and he to-day lies in durance at 
the pleasure of the King and his ministers. ’Tis the 
same all over England; and if such things are per¬ 
mitted to go on unchecked, ’twill soon be the same as 
if the Great Charter had never been sealed at Runny- 
mede.” 

*‘From what I hear ’tis worse in London than in 
the West Country,” cried Mistress Delaroche. 

“Aye,” answered her husband with a resounding 
blow on the table, “what with illegal monopolies, trade 
fees and ship money for the fattening of his purse, 
with the hounding and harrying of ministers of the 
gospel and with Star Chamber Court and High Com¬ 
mission for the jailing and hanging of those who op¬ 
pose him. King Charles is storing up for himself a day 
of wrath. And I for one pray God that it may soon 
come. He has summoned the Parliament at last; but 
if the members do not his will in all things, he will 
quickly send them packing. And then I think we shall 
see pikes and muskets and hear the voice of cannon. 
If these old limbs of mine would anywise permit. I’d 
march myself in such a cause.” 

68 


GRIMSBY MANOR 


“It may be/' said Myles, “that when the King sees 
the temper of the Parliament, he’ll bethink himself 
ere ’tis too late. I hear that those who uphold the 
right of Englishmen outnumber the King’s supporters 
in the Commons by more than two to one.” 

“Nay!” cried his father, “he’ll send them packing 
and essay again to govern without them. And if he 
should bethink himself, as you say, ’twould be only 
how he might make false promises to gain his ends. 
He is a Stuart; and all that race is false, from her 
whom they called Bonnie Mary, Queen of Scots, that 
murdered one husband and maybe two to gain her 
own ends, down to him who now wears the Crown of 
England. If the Commons ever grants him sub¬ 
sidies without attaching conditions as to reform of 
these abuses ere any moneys reach his treasury, we 
may be sure that they will receive naught but lies in 
return, and will have made it possible for him to build 
up an army with which to crush them. I pray God 
they may be better guided.” 

“They will be, I’m thinking,” replied Myles. “I 
have it from Squire Denby, who is in the counsels of 
the Puritan leaders, that the Commons will demand 
reform before they will grant any moneys whatso¬ 
ever.” 

“Aye, maybe so, maybe so,” returned the elder, 
“but so long as Strafford rules the civil polity and 
Laud that of the Church, there’ll be no liberty for 
Englishmen.” 


69 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


‘‘But think you it must come to war?” asked Mis¬ 
tress Delaroche, glancing anxiously from the stern- 
set face of her husband to the no less serious counte¬ 
nance of her son. “Three-fourths of England has 
suffered from these lawless practices. Will not the 
King find himself overborne at once?” 

“Aye, there will be war,” answered Sir Anton, nod¬ 
ding his head emphatically. “And Twill be no easy 
victory either. When at last we take to pike and bom¬ 
bard, the King will raise his standard and call his loyal 
vassals round him. And in that hour not only king- 
ship, but dukedoms, lordships and knighthoods will 
hang in the balance; for thereT a new spirit abroad in 
the land, and many do plan earnestly to do away with 
all at once, and make the common citizen ruler through 
his vote, as Twas among the early Romans. The very 
rumor of this will drive into the King’s party many 
a knight and lord who has for years opposed his usur¬ 
pations. And with these will go full many stout fight¬ 
ing men. Essex will be true to the Parliament, I 
think, and half a dozen or more; but when all is 
said we shall have the King and his nobles and his 
prelates on one side and the Commons on the other. 
Whichever prevails will have no easy victory.” 

“I think ’tis so,” said Myles after a pause, “but 
let us hope the storm will not break for some time yet. 
I have been thinking much of our own affairs also, 
and of somewhat we may do to improve the farm 
here, so that its yield may be more ample for our 

70 


GRIMSBY MANOR 


needs. These things I shall wish to consider with you 
fully.’’ 

“Aye,” cried his mother, “and a good thought too, 
for surely there is dire need of such mending. But 
now let us carve the roast before ’tis utterly cold. 
You, Myles, must be famished with all your riding and 
with no better fare than that of the inns. Come 
Anton, ply your knife, I pray, while I boil a pot of that 
wondrous good coffee which Myles sent to us from 
London town.” 

Soon the plates were heaped with bounteous por¬ 
tions of beef and vegetables, and the aroma of fresh- 
made coffee filled the room. Myles ate and drank with 
a right good will, and both the elders made a better 
meal than at any time for months. For hours after 
the cloth was removed the family sat about the board, 
deep in the discussion of crops and fields and markets. 
Some references there were to the distracted state of 
the kingdom, but for the most part they talked of 
the barley on the West Close, the price of wool and 
mutton and the pasturage that might be had from 
Mallard Fen. 

It was midnight before Myles went to his bed; and 
thereafter his sleep was much disturbed with dreams 
of following through the Rue Meadow a fantastic and 
most unmanageable plow, the share of which was 
formed by two crossed sword blades. 


CHAPTER VIII 


WAR CLOUDS 

O N the day following his return to Grimsby 
Myles entered upon the most laborious 
season of his life. At daybreak he was 
in the stables looking to the feeding of the stock, 
and half an hour later was following the plow in 
the Rue Meadow. All through the hours of light 
with but brief pauses for meals and for the neces¬ 
sary resting of his team, he drove the work for¬ 
ward ; and by sunset could look upon nearly two acres 
of freshly upturned sod. Old Laurence held the 
reins in the rougher and stonier places, and at other 
times rested beneath the apple trees or busied himself 
with a bit of ditching at the lower end of the field. 

In three days the plot was plowed and dragged, the 
loose stones gathered up and the grain bushed in. 
The work was repeated in four or five other closes; 
and by the end of May the whole of the arable land 
of the manor farm, save that of the hay fields and the 
orchard and garden, had been freshly sown. Myles 
had even planted an acre or two with the Indian corn 
of which they had received a sack the year before 
from his brother John, in far-off Massachusetts. 

72 


WAR CLOUDS 


As soon as the planting was done they commenced 
the repairing of the roofs of house and barns; and this 
work was barely completed when the hay harvest was 
upon them. Myles found the long summer days too 
short by half for the tasks that everywhere confronted 
him; and he had often to reproach himself for working 
his horses and faithful old Laurence beyond what was 
fitting for their strength. 

Old Laurence was scandalized, nevertheless, by cer¬ 
tain methods which his young master adopted, and 
which had as their object the saving of time and human 
labor. Myles would never be content to do with hand 
tools and in the traditional way anything which, by 
any contrivance, could be accomplished by the labor of 
the horses. He rigged a lever tackle by means of 
which he pulled out stumps with the team which Lau¬ 
rence would have delved around for days. When a 
great stone on the drag proved too heavy for the 
horses to draw up a slope he brought some small fence 
posts from a pile near by, and using these for 
rollers, soon had the load at the top of the rise. 
He even projected making half a dozen little plows, 
but four or five inches wide and deep, and mounting 
them all on a single frame for the field and garden cul¬ 
tivating. This last plan, however, which was plainly 
regarded as insane by his old helper, was found too 
difficult for immediate accomplishment, and so was 
postponed to a less hurried season. 

Meanwhile the war clouds had month by month 

73 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


grown blacker and more menacing. The Parliament 
summoned in the spring had met the fate prophesied 
by the old Puritan baronet. Discord between the 
assembly and the King had become manifest at once; 
the Commons met the requests for money with de¬ 
mands for the redressing of the people’s grievances; 
and after a few weeks the sovereign dismissed them 
in a rage. 

At the first of November the weather was still mild 
and dry, and Myles turned energetically to the execu¬ 
tion of a plan which had been in his mind since the 
spring. Their growing herds of cattle and sheep would 
in another season require more hay and pasturage than 
the farm could now afford; and a way must be found 
to make up the deficiency. More and more he had 
come to believe that the solution of this and many 
of their other difficulties lay in the draining of Mallard 
Fen. Here was a tract of a hundred acres of deep, 
rich soil that was next to useless because of the water 
that made of it a shallow pond in winter and an oozy 
marsh covered with brakes and swamp grass through¬ 
out the rest of the year. Except as a haven for wild 
ducks, of which Myles managed to shoot a few every 
fall, the fen area might as well have been no part of 
the Grimsby lands. 

The oldest inhabitant of the neighborhood could not 
remember when the Mallard Fen had been other than 
a morass; but now Myles proposed to drain it and to 
turn the whole muddy area into arable land. There 

74 


WAR CLOUDS 


was a narrow valley which ran from the lower end of 
the fen and joined that of Oxbow River nearly half 
a mile below. This, no doubt, in some long-past age, 
had furnished an outlet for a lake which had occupied 
the space of Mallard Fen and a much greater area 
round about. But the water level in the swamp was 
now some feet below the floor of this valley, and 
no stream flowed through the ancient outlet save 
when torrential storms made the swamp into a lake 
again and flooded for a week or so the surrounding 
fields. 

The floor of the valley was grass grown and wholly 
free from rocks and trees; and the soil was a deep, 
soft loam that could be spaded without much loosen¬ 
ing with pick or bar. The making of a waterway, 
while a heavy task, seemed not impossible of accom¬ 
plishment, even with the limited forces of the farm. 
Just what it involved Myles could not estimate, until 
one day he rode to Shrewsbury and borrowed sur¬ 
veyors’ tools of Engineer Thomas Bisbee, an old 
friend of Sir Anton. With these and the knowledge 
gained in an hour’s talk with Bisbee, Myles measured 
the length of the ditch and found the depths of shovel¬ 
ing that would be necesary at fifty-yard intervals along 
its course. 

It turned out that the ditch would be eight hun¬ 
dred yards in length and from two to seven feet in 
depth. From Myles’ description of the fen. Engi¬ 
neer Bisbee had roughly estimated that a ditch as low 

75 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


as its lowest point and four feet wide at the bottom 
would be ample for the work. 

The next morning Myles and old Laurence with the 
two tenant farmers, who as Myles had discovered 
could lawfully be called upon for two weeks’ service 
in the year upon the Manor Farm, began work with 
shovels and mattocks. For a fortnight they labored 
manfully, but long before that time had elapsed they 
had all realized that with such a force the ditch could 
not be finished in six months of steady digging. Win¬ 
ter was at hand, with the hard freezing of the ground, 
and Myles had hoped to have his waterway opened 
in time to drain the marsh and allow him to break its 
sod in the spring. But for a happy thought which 
came to him while driving his great plow along the 
line of the excavation to soften the ground for the 
shovels, he would have been obliged to admit defeat 
and to postpone the completion of the work for a year, 
if not for longer. 

It came to him that a huge shovel might be made, 
to be drawn by the horses, and to scoop the earth from 
the ditch as much faster than hand shoveling as the 
work of a plow was faster than that of a spade for 
turning the soil of a field. That night he spent three 
hours in drawing rough sketches of this unheard-of 
device, and the next morning set the old blacksmith 
at Belford at work upon it. Two days later Myles 
appeared on the ditch bank with the new machine. 
Old Laurence most doubtingly and unwillingly assisted 

76 


WAR CLOUDS 


by driving the horses while his young master held the 
handles and dumped the loads. Before the day was 
over Myles had demonstrated that with this tool he 
could move more earth than a score of shovelers. 

The next day half the people for miles around came 
and stood for hours in the valley, viewing the opera¬ 
tion of the Devil’s Shovel, as they had unflatteringly 
named Myles’ invention. Good progress was made 
nevertheless; and by sundown Myles, and his father 
as well, were convinced that the problem was solved. 

The freeze did not come till the middle of Decem¬ 
ber, and by that time the new waterway was complete 
from the river bank to the Willow Slough, the lowest 
spot in Mallard Fen. For a week or more it carried 
a considerable flow of water, then this diminished to 
a feeble trickle, for the marsh was drained. Even 
the heavy storms which shortly followed failed to 
raise the waters again; and it was clear that a hundred 
fertile acres had been added to the Manor Farm. 

Through the early months of the next year the 
Parliament seemed to be steadily winning in its long 
struggle against the Crown. Bill after bill for secur¬ 
ing and defending the rights of the people was passed 
by both Houses and received the royal seal. 

But the King soon gave ample evidence that all his 
yieldings had been acts of policy merely and that he 
had no real intention of changing his course. He 
regarded himself as the divinely appointed leader of 
the people of the three kingdoms, and always either 

77 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


openly or secretly denied any right on their part to 
question his acts. Now it was plain from numerous 
words and deeds that Charles looked upon his assent 
to popular measures as acts performed under duress 
or under the pressure of violent threatenings, there¬ 
fore not binding at all upon his conscience and only 
to be observed until such time as he could gather the 
strength to repudiate them. 

The upland fields at Grimsby were plowed and sown 
by the middle of May; and Myles attacked the fenland 
with his great breaking plow and a four-horse team. 
A good stout laborer had been secured to work regu¬ 
larly with old Laurence, and the affairs of the farm 
went forward apace. At intervals through the sum¬ 
mer, as other work permitted, the breaking of the fen 
land sod was resumed; and early in the fall the entire 
tract, now thoroughly drained and sweet, was sown 
to upland grasses. 

At the time of the first snowfall the barns contained 
a greater store of hay and grain than at any time for 
twenty years. The dairy herd was more than twice 
as large as it had been when Myles returned from 
London, and their flock of sheep had been increased 
fourfold. A pair of colts was being raised to replace 
the old work horses. And all this stock and its in¬ 
crease for many seasons would have ample provender 
from the reclaimed land. In eighteen months of 
strenuous labor and planning Myles had more than 
tripled the productiveness of the farm. 

78 


WAR CLOUDS 


Early in January of that winter, armed emissaries 
of the King forced their way into the House of Com¬ 
mons and endeavored to arrest five of the leading 
members of the popular party. Soon after, the Queen 
went abroad to buy arms for the Royalist forces; and 
throughout the spring and summer both sides were 
arming and organizing their adherents for the struggle 
that all realized could not much longer be delayed. 


CHAPTER IX 


POOR MAN’S LAW 

W HEN the second harvest after Myles’ 
return to Grimsby had been safely stored 
in the barns a brief period ensued in 
which the affairs of the manor farm made less in¬ 
sistent demands and Myles could devote some days 
to other interests. He renewed acquaintance with 
his boyhood friends at Bel ford, attended some of 
the matches at archery and singlestick that were 
held on the village green, and spent many happy 
hours in tramping through the Grimsby woods in quest 
of hares or moorfowl or in lying in wait for the ducks 
that still at times alighted at the Willow Slough. 

One day when he had ridden to Shrewsbury on an 
errand connected with the wool marketing, he chanced 
to meet Arthur Hinsdale at the inn, and the two spent 
an hour over a well-laden table in delightful reminis¬ 
cence of their meeting on Heatherington Road and the 
journey that followed. Myles chanced to speak of the 
duck shooting at Grimsby, and Arthur eagerly pro¬ 
posed that they spend a day or two together at this 
sport ere the snows made traveling difficult. So it 
was arranged that they should ride at once to Grimsby 

8o 


POOR MAN^S LAW 

and be on the lowlands early the following morn¬ 
ing. 

At dawn they were lying, with fowling pieces ready 
and matches alight, in a covert of rushes overlooking 
the slough. Luck was not with them, however, for 
the mallards avoided their hiding place, and when 
the sun was an hour high the hunters abandoned it 
to skirt the edges of the fen land in search of other 
game. Soon they were among the sapling oaks and 
beeches of the Grimsby woods. There in the course 
of an hour or two they shot a pair of grouse and a 
long-legged hare and caught a fleeting glimpse of a 
mottled doe that had wandered into the sprout land 
from the woods of Lord Upton, half a mile away. 

At noon they made camp fire beneath a stunted wil¬ 
low, on the marshes several miles from Grimsby, and 
roasted the meat for the satisfaction of ravenous appe¬ 
tites. But a raw and searching wind having sprung 
up from the northwest, they lingered not overlong 
at picking the bones. The hunters were now on the 
common land that stretched for some miles on the 
banks of Wenham Brook, and they walked briskly 
onward, hoping at each turning of the path to come 
upon a flock of mallards at their feeding in the reedy 
hollows near the stream bed. 

No game of any sort appeared, however, and they 
began to think of returning. When the sun was low 
in the west they left the edge of the stream and as¬ 
cended through some rocky pasture land to a wooded 

8i 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


hilltop which was surmounted by a great crag from 
which the country might be surveyed for long dis¬ 
tances in every direction. From this point they could 
see the village of Duvaney, a mile or two ahead; and 
Myles, knowing that this was at least a dozen miles 
from home, proposed that they procure horses there 
for the journey back to Grimsby. 

Just beyond the village lay the splendid woods of 
Duvaney Park with the chimneys of the manor house 
just visible over the treetops. Far off to the right 
another forest formed a part of the skyline where 
rose the steepest heights of the region. This wood, 
which seemed of huge old trees, covered a wide ex¬ 
panse of hilly and broken land and extended down a 
narrow vale till it nearly reached the edge of the moor 
they had been traversing. 

“There!” exclaimed Arthur, pointing to the dis¬ 
tant hilltops, “were we in those woods yonder, with an 
hour or two of daylight, Til wager we’d come on birds 
enough, and maybe a buck beside, to make excuse 
for our travel.” 

“Maybe so,” answered Myles slowly, “but unless I 
much mistake, we might in that neighborhood come on 
those who’d make us the hunted ones in our turn; and 
indeed if we came through with whole skins we might 
have cause for thankfulness.” 

“What mean you by that? What beasts are now 
in England that we need fear?” 

“None of the four-footed sort, I’m sure; but I be- 

82 


POOR MAN’S LAW 


lieve that is the place known as Doolick- Wood, where 
lodges a band of freebooters whose deeds in this coun¬ 
tryside for some years now may well put to shame 
the bears and wolves. Yes, I’m sure ’tis the very 
place.” 

“Ha! a robber band! Now this is something like. 
Who is their leader, and how does he ’scape hang¬ 
ing ?” 

“Why, his name is Sir Thornton du Lac, though the 
people hereabouts and all whom I hear mention them 
have long called him and his followers ^the Doolicks,’ 
that way of saying it coming more naturally to our 
tongues. For many generations, and up to some five 
years ago. Sir Thornton and his forbears were lords 
of vast domains on this and the other side of that 
range of hills. But idleness, drunkenness and gam¬ 
ing did their worst for them as for many another 
ancient house. The usurers took some of their lands, 
and others were sold for half their worth to pay the 
debts that had been made with cards and dice. And 
at last the Du Lacs came to utter ruin with the sale 
of Minturn Castle which had been the family seat 
since the days of the Conqueror. All that was left 
to them was a single farmstead, which, if I mistake 
not, stands at the head of that valley yonder, and has 
about it some half dozen acres of tillage land. That 
too was heavily mortgaged, but no bailiff has dared set 
foot on the rocky path to Doolick Wood since Sir 
Thornton sent back the first so mauled and cudgelled 

83 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


that he must be tied into his saddle to save him from 
falling/' 

“Upon my word!” cried Arthur, “an oldtime gen¬ 
tleman, indeed! But who has he for followers?” 

“Why the old knight has four stout sons who might 
bestir themselves to make an honest livelihood now 
that their patrimony is wasted, or at the least take serv¬ 
ice as soldiers abroad. But apparently they have no 
such thoughts. They have gathered about them a 
score or more of bloody-handed ruffians whom they 
call servants or retainers, and they harry the country¬ 
side at will on pretense of collecting rents or other 
dues from the tenants on their ancient holdings. Some 
of these give willingly of their money and goods out 
of loyalty to the house to which their fathers gave 
allegiance; but others refuse, as is their right, to pay 
their rents a second time and to those who have no 
lawful claim. The upshot is that the gold and the 
cattle are taken with the strong hand; and very few 
there are who dare protest. One such was hanged 
by the Du Lacs to an apple tree in his dooryard, and 
another, who seized a musket to protect from seizure 
a pair of colts he had raised and broken, was left 
riddled with bullets by the door of his barn. Thieves 
and murderers—that’s what they are! They boast 
of ancient lineage, but I’d be prouder of my stock if 
I could trace it but two generations and those were 
of honest, clean-handed folk.” 

“How comes it they have not been taken or slain 

84 


POOR MAN^S LAW 


ere this? Have you no magistrates in these parts?” 

*'Aye,” growled Myles, ‘^magistrates we have in 
plenty, such as they be. Sir Gilbert Duvaney yon¬ 
der has held the King's commission for twenty years. 
And he is sharp enough too, in execution of the laws 
that seem to him wise and necessary. Twice, to my 
knowledge, he has sent poor men to their deaths for 
sheep stealing, and he tolerates no vagrants or idlers 
at Duvaney Village. But this matter of the Du Lacs 
is far different. These are people of as good blood 
as his own—or better maybe; they lay some sort of 
claim to the lands they harry, and, most important 
of all, they are fighting men of such courage and skill 
as to make it impossible for him to deal with them 
with any posse he might assemble in the neighborhood. 
The country folk are mortally afraid of the Du Lacs, 
and 'twould take a company of soldiers to batter down 
the stone walls of their house up there and take them 
prisoners. And so long as he and his friends are 
not assailed. Sir Gilbert will do nothing. 'Tis thus 
our laws are executed. If the time ever comes when 
I hold a magistrate's commission, I swear I'll go to 
Doolick Wood, with soldiers and cannon, if need be, 
and bring those red-handed scoundrels to justice.” 

“Ah, well!” said Arthur carelessly, “these are 
troublous times, with King and Parliament so at odds 
that none knew certainly who should execute the laws. 
Perhaps Sir Gilbert does as well as may be when all's 
known.” 


85 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


‘‘Arthur/' cried Myles, springing up from the ledge 
on which he had been sitting and gazing almost fiercely 
into the smiling face of his companion, “ 'tis not only 
the execution of our laws that’s at fault but the making 
of them. See you not that they are made both hy and 
for the men of wealth and position, and that they have 
wondrous little care for those who do the work of 
the world and suffer most of its hardships? Look 
now! If poor men had a voice in our Parliaments and 
courts in proportion to their numbers, do you think 
they’d punish with death the stealing of a sheep or the 
pulling down of a bit of wall, and for years pass over 
such doings as those of Sir Thornton du Lac and his 
crew? ’Tis not in reason.” 

“Nay, there are many things must be righted when 
Heaven comes on earth,” returned Arthur. “But 
I for one do not look to see the change much sooner. 
As near as I can tell, there have always been gentle 
and simple—those who ruled and those who obeyed 
—and for the life of me I cannot see how it could be 
otherwise. But now tell me, has not one of these 
Du Lacs the name of William? If so, I think I’ve 
had the honor of making his acquaintance.” 

“Aye, surely. William du Lac is Sir Thornton’s 
eldest son.” 

“A man of thirty or thereabouts, with mustachios 
like a Spanish don?” 

“The same. Where have you seen him?” 

“ ’Twas in London, one night but a year ago. I 

86 


POOR MAN’S LAW 


had been to see Gil Lovelace at the theater, and was 
returning at eleven o’clock or so when I noted bright 
lights at Dunham Place. You recall Jack Dunham 
at La Salle’s?” 

“Yes, and Tom, his brother.” 

“Right—two lads of eighteen and twenty who were 
growing up much too fast, and stood much in need 
of sundry lessons in the ways of the world. Well, it 
seems they’d been having one that night, for when I 
entered they had just quitted a game at cards with 
a tall, mustachioed bravo whom they introduced to 
me as William du Lac. They had met him at a club, 
and he had been teaching them the newest play at such 
a rate that he had just pocketed the last of their 
guineas. I was invited to learn the game also, but 
declined for two reasons—first, I had but half a 
crown in my pocket, and second, even if I had been 
better supplied, I would have been shy of such an 
opposite as this Du Lac, who seemed to me something 
in the way of professional brawler and gamester. So 
we did not play; and Du Lac beguiled the time for 
half an hour with tales of the greatness of his family 
and their wondrous long descent. I think he claimed 
they issued from no less a personage than Lancelot 
of the Lake.” 

“Aye, that’s William of DooHck Wood, sure 
enough. I’ve often heard they made that boast.” 

“Well, we tired in time of the exploits of his ances¬ 
tors; and when we began to yawn, he took himself 

87 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


off, his pouch well stuffed with the Dunhams’ guineas. 
I had some matter to discuss with Jack, so declined 
the offer of his company and did not leave the house 
till some five minutes later. 

“When I was halfway home, and trudging through 
the muddiest of lanes, I heard a noise of oaths and 
blows ahead of me, and, running forward, saw a gen¬ 
tleman beset by two ruffians with knives and cudgels. 
He was backed against a wall and was using his sword 
full manfully, but the thieves were brawny fellows 
who came at him like hounds at a boar and soon might 
have had the better of it. I ran up with a yell and 
made a pass at one of them, and nicked him somewhat, 
I believe. Thereupon they both took to their heels, 
and left me looking into the face of the man they had 
meant to rob and whom I now saw to be this William 
du Lac. The moment he recognized me he over¬ 
whelmed me with his thanks, and even went so far 
as to offer me the half of his evening’s winnings, say¬ 
ing that but for my assistance the whole might by 
that time have been in the possession of the cutthroats 
who had waylaid him. I had no mind to such 
division, and we parted ten minutes later at the door 
of the villainous inn where he had his lodging as near 
to being friends as might be. He made many offers 
of his service; but from that time I have never seen 
him—nor wished to.” 

Myles laughed heartily at the wry face with which 
Arthur concluded his story. 

88 


POOR MAN’S LAW 


‘‘Faith!” he chuckled, “such a gallant rescue de¬ 
served a fitter object, for, if you had but known, that 
brawl in the lane was simply a falling out among 
thieves, at which time, according to the proverb, honest 
men should come into their own. But now I see the 
lights at the cottage windows yonder, and bethink me 
we should be making toward the high road ere ’tis 
any darker. How would it please you to stop at the 
village inn to-night and go on with our hunting to¬ 
morrow ?” 

“Aye, surely,” answered Arthur. “But have we 
any prospects of better sport than to-day? Our game 
pouches are still as flat as a last year’s news-letter.” 

“I have a thought,” said Myles as he led the way 
rapidly down the hill, “that we may so plan our hunt¬ 
ing to-morrow as to bring down as many ducks as we 
will care for. Somewhere in Duvaney Village there 
lives a man whom we had ten years ago on the 
Grimsby farms. John Blackie is his name, and, with all 
his many faults, he is a right good fellow and just 
the sort for our purpose. He has the greatest store 
of woodcraft—the snaring of foxes and badgers and 
such beasts; he knows the season and the favorite 
feeding places of every sort of wild fowl; and he has a 
wonderful skill with bow and arrows. Not many 
use the old weapons nowadays, but John Blackie can 
kill more game with them than most men can with 
firearms. He taught me to shoot the bow when I 
was a little lad, and I grew so fond of it that even 

89 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


now I sometimes wish no other weapon were used for 
the hunting, that the game might last the longer. But 
John Blackie lost his farm some years back—perhaps 
because he loved hunting and archery better than plow¬ 
ing and delving—and he’s lived since then as a jack- 
at-all-trades in the village here. If we can get him 
to row a boat for us to-morrow on Wenham Pond and 
the marshes thereabouts, I doubt not we shall fill our 
game bags, for he will know every covert and feed¬ 
ing ground.” 

^‘Good!” cried Arthur. “Do you know his house ?” 

“No, but we will soon find it. Every lad in the 
village will surely know John Blackie, unless he’s 
greatly changed from my remembrance. Let us hurry, 
for he’ll be returning by now from any work he’s 
had.” 

Soon the youths were on the main street of the 
village, where the first urchin they met pointed out 
John Blackie’s cottage. It was a rickety wooden 
structure at the bottom of an alley, and its surround¬ 
ings spoke all too plainly of the poverty of its occu¬ 
pants. The early winter twilight was deepening into 
night, and the chilling wind of the afternoon had be¬ 
come a howling gale. The puddles in the wretched 
footway were already filmed with ice, and the muddy 
ground between them was solidly frozen. A loose 
board shutter on a neighboring dwelling banged dis¬ 
tressfully in the wind, and all the inhabitants of the 
neighborhood had betaken themselves within doors. 

90 


POOR MAN’S LAW 


It seemed at first that there were no lights in the 
Blackie cottage, and Myles had begun to think that 
all the family must be from home when he espied the 
faint glimmer of a candle from a half-boarded-up win¬ 
dow at the rear. Seeing this, he approached the 
door and knocked vigorously; but although the loose 
panels rattled hideously, sending clamorous noises all 
about, he obtained no response and was once and again 
obliged to repeat his summons. 

At last shuffling footfalls were heard within; a dim 
light appeared on the threshold, and the door was 
slowly and hesitantly opened. 

A woman, apparently still young in years, though 
already bent and gray with work and care, stood in 
the passageway, trembling with the cold and gazing 
fearsomely at the hunters. Her hair was disordered 
and her drawn and pain-filled countenance plainly 
showed the marks of recent tears. Two round-eyed 
children, three or four years old, clung to her skirts 
and sought to hide behind her. She uttered no word 
of greeting, and Myles hastened to make known his 
errand. 

‘Ts this John Blackie’s house? Is he at home?” 

‘‘Home?” echoed the woman bitterly, “know ye not 
he’ll never more be home in this warld?” 

“Oh, is he dead, then?” asked Myles gently. “I 
had not heard.” 

“He’s no dead, sir;” wailed the woman, “but well 
he might be. He’s in the jail now there at the Town- 

91 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


house; and Tm thinking he’ll never coom from there 
but to his hanging. ’Twas this very day they took 
him for the deer killing.” 

‘‘Who took him ?” 

“The game wardens—Sir Gilbert’s men. And they 
had his arms tied wi’ rope, and they were leading him 
like a sheep-killing dog. I saw them in the road and 
run to him and he telled it to me. ’Twas half an 
hour ago. And, oh, my poor little ones! They’ll 
come on the parish at last. We’s had no meat in the 
house for a month and more. ’Twas that made John 
go for the deer, and all I could say wouldna hold 
him.” 

Again the tears ran down the poor woman’s face, 
and she tried in vain to dry them with her apron. She 
sobbed heartbrokenly, and one of the children joined 
her with a frightened whimper. Myles gazed at the 
floor for a space, while Arthur stamped violently on 
the frozen ground, cleared his throat loudly and 
turned away. 

“Are you not more frightened than need be?” said 
Myles at last. “Surely Sir Gilbert would not send 
to—to his death a man of Duvaney Village here for 
a thing like that” 

“Oh, zvould he not, sir?” sobbed the woman. “I 
wish I believed he wouldna. ’Tis twice within two 
years he’s sent men to the Shrewsbury Court that had 
them hangt for the sheep stealing. And Sir Gilbert 
thinks far more o’ one of his deer than o’ any sheep.” 

92 


POOR MAN’S LAW 


Arthur turned to Myles and spoke in a strange, 
gruff voice: 

“Let us go to this Sir Gilbert Duvaney and make 
him see the right of this. Men are not dogs to be 
used this way, if it is old custom.” 

“Aye, that’s what we’ll do,” answered Myles eagerly. 
“Never fear, goodwife, we’ll bring John safely out 
of this. I am Myles Delaroche, son of Sir Anton 
of Grimsby, and I knew your man when I was a little 
lad. Many’s the good day’s hunting we had together 
before ever he came to Duvaney; and I’ll stand by him 
now.” 

He drew a gold piece from his pouch and pressed 
it into the woman’s hand. 

“Here’s somewhat to buy meat and bread till we 
have your man back again.” 

“And here’s somewhat more for good measure,” 
cried Arthur, following his friend’s example with a 
pair of guineas. “Come, Myles, let’s to the manor 
and have done with this matter before we eat. We’ll 
sup the easier for it.” 

They turned away up the lane, followed by poor 
Dame Blackie’s tremulously uttered blessings, and 
hurried through the village to the Park. There, a 
furlong from the road, stood the gray stone walls and 
towering chimneys of Duvaney Manor, the most pre¬ 
tentious country seat for many miles around. At the 
door a liveried servant received Myles’ message to 
the baronet, and soon the two friends were ushered 

93 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


into the hall. Sir Gilbert was talking with two of his 
gamekeepers, and, after coming forward to greet 
Myles and acknowledge his introduction of Arthur, 
begged them to be seated for a moment while he fin¬ 
ished a trifling matter on which he was then engaged. 

Returning to the foresters. Sir Gilbert resumed the 
discussion which the entrance of the visitors had inter¬ 
rupted. The baronet was a burly fellow, somewhat 
past middle age, with reddish hair and beard and a 
countenance of much the same hue. His voice was 
loud, and his speech plentifully interspersed with oaths 
and obscenity, though he seemed at the moment in 
high good humor. A half-emptied brandy bottle on 
the table, flanked by a water pitcher and two dingy 
tumblers bespoke the entertainment that had occupied 
his afternoon, and a certain deliberateness of speech, 
together with a fishy gleam in his prominent eyes told 
of one whose special pride was in carrying his liquor 
well. It would have been too much to say that Sir 
Gilbert was drunk, for his step was firm and his tongue 
as yet under perfect control. But, as Myles reflected 
dubiously, an assertion that he was sober would have 
been a still greater departure from the truth. Even 
while the baronet had been speaking with them Myles 
had nearly decided to postpone their errand till the 
morrow in the hope of a better outcome. 

But Sir Gilberts first words to the foresters made 
it plain that no such course was possible. 

^‘A good piece of work, by the Lord Harry!’* he 

94 


POOR MAN’S LAW 


declared. “We’ll have him up for’s hearing at nine 
o’clock in the morning, and Tod Crowner can take 
him in the cart and have him in Shrewsbury Jail be¬ 
fore dark. A good piece of work, my lads! ’Twas 
the second time within a year a deer had been taken, 
but ’tother poacher ’scaped us. By the Lord! he 
might have been this same Blackie fellow. Was this 
an arrow, too, did ye say?” 

“Aye, sir,” answered one of the gamekeepers eag¬ 
erly, “ ’twas a broad arrow like what we used of olden 
time. Not many do use them now.” 

“No, by the Lord Harry! ’Tis now become a 
poacher’s weapon solely, and well fitted too, for it 
makes no noise. But there’s one will shoot no more 
arrows. Hanging Harriman is on the bench at 
Shrewsbury, and he never lets slip a chance to do full 
justice on thieves and poachers. He’s one of the good 
old sort. I would we had more such. But just 
where was this fellow taken? Was it near the pad- 
dock?” 

“No, sir, ’twas over near the Common’s head— 
close by that new fence that goes by the Lookout 
Rock.” 

“Hum!” said the baronet meditatively. “You’re 
sure ’twas within the fences?” 

“Oh, yes, sir, he was in that willow thicket by the 
brook there; and ’twas against the fence we penned 
him—Jem here coming from the other way but just 
in time.” 


95 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


“Well, then, be sure of it when I ask you to-mor¬ 
row. We want no talk of his being outside—no slips 
that some lawyer chap can hang an argument on. I 
mean this business shall put a stop to all poaching on 
Duvaney lands for a dog’s age. You can go now, 
but be here at nine or sooner in the morning, and be 
ready to swear to what you say.” 

The gamekeepers touched their forelocks and with¬ 
drew, and Sir Gilbert turned to his visitors. 

“Well, gentlemen, I must apologize for keeping you 
thus waiting; but you see how it is. These little mat¬ 
ters must have their turn. Now let me send for some 
fresh tumblers and I’ll join you in the King’s health.” 

“Many thanks, Sir Gilbert,” replied Myles, quickly, 
“but pray excuse us for the time. We have a matter 
of business to discuss with you, and for now would 
rather be forward with it.” 

“Well, then,” replied the baronet, surlily, “let’s hear 
this business that’s so urgent it cannot wait for a 
friendly glass. Have ye news from London? Are 
the Puritans up in arms over the jailing of some of 
their Parliament ranters?” 

“No, sir, we have no news from London. ’Tis 
about this very matter of which you were talking but 
now with the gamekeepers. This man, Blackie, was 
a Grimsby man ten years ago. I knew him well. 
He’s no bad fellow in the main, and I’d willingly do 
aught that may be necessary to save him from the 
consequences of this folly.” 

96 


POOR MAN’S LAW 


Sir Gilbert’s face had darkened ominously. The 
moment Myles was done he burst out: 

“The man’s a poacher and a thief. ’Tis the second 
time now to my knowledge he has killed my deer with¬ 
in a mile of this very house. An example should 
be made of such a vagabond.” 

“I’ll take him to Grimsby with me,” urged Myles, 
“and my father and I will be responsible for his future 
conduct. We’ll see to it he never comes again within 
sight of Duvaney.” 

“Not if I know it, you won’t. Master Delaroche,” 
roared the baronet. “A plague on your meddling in 
this affair that’s none of yours. What of all the other 
thieves and rascals in Duvaney whom this fellow has 
taught to take my game—and my sheep and pigs as 
well, for aught I know?” 

“If he be such a ringleader in mischief,” answered 
Myles, hotly, “you should easily be able to manage 
the rest when he is gone. And there’s no need of a 
hangman’s noose to accomplish that.” 

“Faugh!” sneered the other with a look and ges¬ 
ture of utter contempt. “What does a young cock 
of your sort know of the task of keeping peace and 
order on an estate like this ? I’ll have you remember 
I’m sworn to enforce his Majesty’s laws hereabouts, 
and that does not sort with letting every lousy rascal 
go free for misdeeds wherein he’s caught red-handed.” 

“It seems to sort well enough,” cried Arthur Hins¬ 
dale, who now sprang to his feet and confronted the 

97 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


baronet, “with letting those go free who’ve done a 
hundred times the law breaking that this John Blackie 
has. I hear nothing of your arresting any of the 
Du Lac crew that rob and murder hereabouts. Per¬ 
haps ^tis because they wear swords and pistols and 
know how to use them.’’ 

After this amazing attack Sir Gilbert stood for a 
moment as though paralyzed, his jaw working convul¬ 
sively within his closed lips and his red-veined eye¬ 
balls seeming like to burst from his head. Arthur 
was standing but a yard away, his hands held firmly 
at his sides and his black eyes fixed menacingly on the 
baronet’s face. When at last Sir Gilbert answered 
it was with a long series of blood-curdling oaths. 
Coming in time to the end of his resources of this 
sort, he roared: 

“Here you—young what’s-your-name—can you 
handle a weapon yourself, or do you only talk about 
them? If you can, by all the Imps of Hades, you shall 
have opportunity. Here’s rapiers or broadswords— 
whichever you choose. Delaroche will second you, 
and I’ll quickly find a man to stand behind me. Then 
we’ll see whether aught I do or leave undone is 
through the fear of weapons. May I be palsied if I 
don’t pin you to the wall like a rabbit-skin put up to 
dry.” 

“With all my heart,” cried Arthur, now gay and 
debonair once more. “You do me great honor, in¬ 
deed, Sir Gilbert Duvaney. And I on my part hope to 

98 


POOR MAN’S LAW 


hold you some little time in play before you perform 
that graceful spitting that you speak of. Prithee let’s 
have in that friend of yours and get to work.” 

Breathing like a foundered horse and with a face 
of the hue of flame, Sir Gilbert turned away toward 
an inner door, but Myles Delaroche sprang toward 
him. 

‘^Hold, both of you,” he cried. “This quarrel is 
mine if it is any one’s, and I do not choose to put it to 
the sword’s decision.” 

Sir Gilbert paused with his hand on the knob, and 
Myles whirled about and confronted his friend. 
“Arthur,” he pleaded, “we came here to save a poor 
man’s life if we might. Do you think John Blackie will 
be in any better case if you run Sir Gilbert through 
the body ? Will he not rather be in a far worse plight ? 
Will not any judge feel impelled to deal harshly with 
him to vindicate the majesty of the law? Do you not 
see that if you persist in this you send the poor devil 
to the gallows?” 

Arthur was silent, and Myles turned again toward 
the baronet. “Sir Gilbert Duvaney,” he said, sol¬ 
emnly, “I ask you to forget the hasty words that have 
just been said on both sides and to listen to my request 
for mercy for that poor man. I’ll take him away 
and he will never trouble you more.” 

“I’ll see him in Hades first,” growled Duvaney, “and 
you also.” 

Myles seized his hat from the table and that of 

99 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


Arthur as well. Taking his friend by the arm, he 
half coaxed and half forced him toward the door. A 
moment later the two stood in the wintry wind out¬ 
side, and with some mutterings and backward glances 
Arthur suffered himself to be led down the walk to the 
manor gates. When they were in the roadway he 
came to a full stop and demanded: 

“Well, Sir Peacemaker, what will you do now for 
John Blackie? It seems to me we’re leaving him in 
the clutches after all.” 

“I’ll go to-night,” returned Myles, slowly, “and 
see old Lawyer Gibbon who lives here in the village. 
I’ll get him to appear for Blackie in the morning. It 
may be he’ll find some way to get him free.” 

“Ho! a likely chance,” growled Arthur. “Living 
here at Duvaney, your lawyer will be in mortal awe 
of Sir Gilbert and all his works, and there’s little he’ll 
do for one Sir Gilbert has determined to punish. 
’Twould be better help you’d be bringing John Blackie 
if you’d get together a dozen or so of stout fellows 
and break down the jail door to-night and let him 
give leg-bail.” 

“That may be,” answered Myles, hesitatingly, “and 
I confess that I had thought of it. But the worst of 
such a way would be that most likely there’d have to 
be some violence, with perhaps the death or maiming 
of some innocent man. No, I’ll fight this through 
by lawful means, and hope thereby to do more good 
than harm.” 

lOO 


< ( ( 


POOR MAN’S LAW 


“Then I prophesy you’ll fail utterly,” said Arthu^, 
sulkily. ‘‘Sir Gilbert is now in a furious rage—thanks 
to me, no doubt—and he would send that man to the 
gibbet if it cost him half his estate. Once let Blackie 
be sent to Shrewsbury with the findings that will come 
from the justice court here, and not the King himself 
could save him.” 

“It may be so, but we will have done our best,” 
answered Myles with a sigh. 

“Well, then,” declared Arthur, “if that’s to be our 
best, I think I want no share in it. I’ll start for Hins¬ 
dale to-night. If I appeared at the hearing here to¬ 
morrow, ’twould probably make matters worse. And 
though, no doubt, the ways of peace are best, I might 
be tempted beyond my strength.” 

“I shall be sorry to have you leave me, Arthur,” 
said Myles, sadly, “but I must admit I think you’re 
right as to the effect your presence might have on Sir 
Gilbert. Remembering what you said to him but now, 
he’d likely turn a deaf ear to any arguments whatever 
in John Blackie’s behalf. But let us first to the inn 
for supper. If later you decide to leave, it may be you 
can there find a horse fit for the journey.” 

An hour later, when the friends had concluded a 
silent and gloomy meal at the inn, Arthur mounted 
and rode away toward Hinsdale, and Myles bent his 
steps toward the house of the lawyer. 


CHAPTER X 


REDBEARD 

A nd now, Master Gibbon, these being the 
facts, do you think we can save him?’^ 
Concluding his recital of the Blackie case, 
Myles leaned forward in his chair in eager scrutiny of 
the lawyer’s wrinkled countenance and breathlessly 
awaited his reply. But the veteran barrister was long 
past the age of hasty and ill-considered action and was 
not to be hurried into any rash statements. With 
his gaze fixed meditatively on the glowing coals in the 
grate, he took three or four deliberate pulls at his long¬ 
stemmed pipe and blew a cloud of smoke toward the 
ceiling before making answer. When he spoke it 
was slowly and precisely, but in a thin and cackling 
voice which contrasted oddly with the solemnity of 
his utterance. 

‘T think I may say. Master Delaroche, that there 
is a reasonable chance of our doing so, I take it 
there were no direct witnesses to the act itself; and 
that fact, if properly utilized, may save the prisoner 
from the infliction of the penalty otherwise due. Sir 
Gilbert, in his present state of irritation, might wish 
to proceed to extreme measures; but, fortunately, in 


102 


REDBEARD 


this instance, such measures are beyond his jurisdic¬ 
tion.’’ 

^‘And what may we expect if the defense you plan 
is successful ? Will the Court impose a fine or a term 
in jail for trespass or larceny?” 

“Ah, no, Master Delaroche. This is a serious mat¬ 
ter, and even though the evidence is wholly circum¬ 
stantial, as I hope to establish, we can hardly expect 
Judge Harriman to pass it over thus lightly.” 

“What then is the likely penalty?” 

“When such an offense is coupled with trespass,” 
replied the lawyer, unctuously, “the penalty is death. 
However, we grow more merciful of late, and the cap¬ 
ital sentence has not always been pronounced in recent 
years. His Gracious Majesty, the King, has ex¬ 
pressed himself as favoring in these matters, as in so 
many others, the more gentle and lenient course. 
Where there are mitigating circumstances, or where 
there still exists some shred of doubt as to the guilt 
of the accused, it has become quite usual to substitute 
a much lighter punishment. In such instances the 
prisoner is merely branded on the forehead with the 
letter T and sent to the Colonies.” 

“My faith!” cried Myles, “a most merciful pro¬ 
cedure, I’ll be bound, and one for which an offender 
should be duly grateful. Merely to be branded for 
life as a thief and exiled! And I suppose the wife 
and children of such criminals are left perfectly free 
to starve to death in England.” 

103 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


^‘Nay, not so fast, young sir,” objected the lawyer. 
“I perceive that you have been listening to some of 
those who would blindly destroy the splendid struc¬ 
ture of English law and custom and turn society up¬ 
side down because all things are not adjusted to their 
notions of right and justice. ’Tis natural enough at 
your age, to be sure; but years and experience will 
bring wiser views. And as to the dependents of 
such offenders, such an outcome as you mention is by 
no means to be anticipated. I believe our system of 
parochial relief for the deserving poor is as good as 
any in Europe. Instances of actual starvation are not 
many. But I am not defending our penal system— 
though, to speak truth, it is in many respects an ad¬ 
mirable one—I merely state the facts as I know them.” 

‘‘Well, then,” said Myles with a sigh, “you will en¬ 
deavor to show that Blackie is not guilty as charged. 
Have you any hope of convincing Sir Gilbert of that?” 

“Not much, I admit, but Tis well to begin that way 
as a foundation for the defense we’ll make at Shrews¬ 
bury. It will be best, I think, to regard the proceed¬ 
ings at to-morrow’s hearing as merely formal, and 
by all means to avoid any words or actions that may 
further irritate Sir Gilbert. If we so conduct our¬ 
selves, it may be that he’ll refrain from any further 
activity in the matter after he has committed the man 
for the Assizes. In that event we may be able to 
secure the lighter penalty. At any rate, my dear sir, 
we’ll do our best.” 

104 


REDBEARD 


With this limited assurance Myles was obliged to 
be content. For an hour after leaving the lawyer’s 
house he walked the frozen streets of the little town, 
thinking of the poacher’s miserable plight and trying 
vainly to form a better plan on his behalf. Recalling 
more completely John Blackie’s independent ways, his 
somewhat reckless though hearty and generous temper 
and his hatred of restraint, Myles began to doubt 
whether his old companion would regard the branding 
and transportation as at all to be preferred to the cap¬ 
ital penalty. With Arthur’s prediction as to Master 
Gibbon’s attitude in mind, Myles considered for a 
moment the possibility of securing elsewhere a coun¬ 
selor to whom the ancient laws and usages were not 
such utterly sacred institutions and the Master of Du- 
vaney Manor something less than a sovereign. He 
thought of Marcus Denby, and wondered whether 
Grimsby Manor could afford the sums necessary for 
that stout old Commoner’s journey from London to 
conduct the case of its former retainer at the Shrews¬ 
bury Assize. But before he came to any conclusion 
as to the monetary side of the matter the doubt arose 
whether a barrister being especially brought from 
London for the defense would not result in prejudicing 
Judge Harriman’s mind against the prisoner to an 
extent that would more than offset the value of such 
a counselor’s services. However regarded, the situa¬ 
tion was a gloomy one, and Myles finally went to his 
bed in a state of discouragement. 

lOS 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


Nevertheless he was astir before daybreak, and at 
the very earliest hour for visitors at the jail was ad¬ 
mitted to John Blackie’s cell. The poor follow was 
almost speechless with gratitude for Myles’ interven¬ 
tion on his behalf, and promised to follow his counsel 
in everything. Myles went over with him every 
phase of the deer killing and of his capture by the 
game wardens, but found no least circumstance upon 
which a valid defense could be founded. John had 
had no work for six weeks; and for most of that time 
his children had been in want of bread. The preced¬ 
ing afternoon he had taken his bow and arrows and 
had lain in wait in a willow thicket in Duvaney Park 
for two hours. Finally his opportunity had come and 
he had killed a fine buck, only to find himself a minute 
later between the two foresters and the park fence, 
which at that point was far too high for hasty scaling. 

It was not until he had risen to go and had ad¬ 
dressed a last question or two to the prisoner that 
Myles found the slightest reason for hope. The effect 
of one piece of information, incidentally mentioned 
by the prisoner, was such that Myles only waited to 
draw from him such details as his knowledge afforded, 
then hurried away to consult with the village school¬ 
master and other local worthies who were able to sup¬ 
plement it. Then, with hurried thanks to his inform¬ 
ers, Myles started again toward the house of Lawyer 
Gibbon. It was a dark and foggy morning, and the 
village streets were still almost deserted. The bar- 

106 


REDBEARD 


rister, however, was already setting out toward the 
manor, for the hour set for the hearing was approach¬ 
ing. Meeting him at his gate, Myles turned and ac¬ 
companied him, talking earnestly all the while though 
in tones too low to reach the ears of bystanders. 

The lawyer seemed not favorably impressed with 
Myles’ new plan. At the manor gates he paused and 
shook his head in a decided negative, and Myles re¬ 
doubled his arguments. These were wholly ineffec¬ 
tive, however, for all the way up the brick-paved path 
Master Gibbon continued to give visible signs of dis¬ 
sent and to mumble impatient protests. To escape 
from his young client’s insistence, he hurried up the 
steps and knocked loudly at the door. 

In a moment they were ushered into the presence 
of Sir Gilbert who sat at a small table in the hall which 
was littered with papers and account books. Evi¬ 
dently the baronet was now completely sober, but in an 
exceedingly bad humor. He gruffly acknowledged 
the lawyer’s obsequious bow and somewhat nervous 
explanation of his business at the hearing, but paid 
no attention whatever to young Delaroche. After a 
moment he rose and led the way to a smaller room 
at the side of the house which was near the entrance 
used by such persons as jailers and gamekeepers and 
in which it appeared he was accustomed to hold court 
as local magistrate. In a moment the jailer appeared 
with his prisoner. Blackie’s left wrist was manacled 
to the jailer’s right, a chain some two feet long con- 

107 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


necting them. Immediately behind them came a stout 
constable, ready to render the jailer instant assistance 
should the prisoner become unruly. The two game 
wardens were already in the room. 

The first of the wardens was sworn, and pro¬ 
ceeded to tell the story of the poacher’s capture much 
as Myles had heard it on the preceding evening. Law¬ 
yer Gibbon cross-examined him at length, in an appar¬ 
ently careless manner but so that it was evident to 
Myles, who knew his plan, that he intended to prove 
that no one had actually seen John Blackie discharge 
the arrow that had slain the deer and therefore that 
the prosecution must fail for lack of witnesses. 

The evidence of the second game warden was much 
the same as that of his comrade as was also his exam¬ 
ination on behalf of the defense. When this was con¬ 
cluded, there being no more witnesses, Master Gibbon 
made the motion that the prisoner be discharged since 
the accusation against him had failed of proof. 

Sir Gilbert sat back in his great armchair, thrust his 
thumbs into his armpits and laughed long and loud. 

‘‘A fine argument that, Master Gibbon,” he jeered, 
“when these fellows saw the deer fall from an arrow 
stroke and within a minute after caught this prisoner 
here with a bow in his hand.” 

“Nevertheless, the arrow stroke might have been 
the work of another person,” replied the lawyer, 
evenly. “And we contend that such was, in fact, the 
case. I ask for the prisoner’s discharge.” 

io8 


REDBEARD 


The magistrate laughed again and cast a leering 
look at Myles. Then he cleared his throat loudly 
and sat erect, with the evident intention of pronoun¬ 
cing his findings; but Myles was beforehand. Spring¬ 
ing to his feet, he addressed Lawyer Gibbon in a low, 
firm voice: 

‘‘Master Gibbon, do you not intend to bring for¬ 
ward the facts with which I acquainted you this morn¬ 
ing?” 

The barrister colored violently, then replied with a 
frown: 

“No, Master Delaroche. I do not think it advis¬ 
able.” 

“Then I will do so myself,” cried Myles. “Sir Gil¬ 
bert Duvaney, this man here is not guilty of the 
offense with which he stands charged. We will admit 
once for all that he discharged the arrow which killed 
the deer in question; but at that moment neither he nor 
the deer were on the lands of Duvaney Park or upon 
any other lands the entrance upon which would con¬ 
stitute trespass.” 

“What nonsense is this?” demanded Sir Gilbert. 
“Jeremy, did you not swear that this fellow was taken 
within the fences?” 

“Aye, sir,” replied the forester, “ ’twas this side of 
the fence that runs by Lookout Rock.” 

“The part you speak of as the new fence, was it 
not?” asked Myles, quietly. 

“Aye, we caught him against the fence. ’Twas 

109 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


too high for his climbing before we laid hold of him/’ 

“Just so,” said Myles. “Now, Sir Gilbert, that land 
is no part of Duvaney Park. Four years ago, with¬ 
out any warrant in law, your men inclosed a corner of 
the common land pertaining to the Village of Du¬ 
vaney, and thus brought within the fences that other¬ 
wise surround Duvaney Park some ten acres of moor 
and woodland to which you have no lawful claim. 
John Blackie, a resident of Duvaney Village, has 
killed a deer upon that land, within the season when 
such killings are lawful to such residents. He is, 
therefore, wholly innocent of the charge upon which 
he has been arrested.” 

While Myles was speaking the baronet’s lower jaw 
had dropped, his countenance had become blood red 
and his prominent' eyes stared hideously. The instant 
the young defender had done the baronet bawled fur¬ 
iously in reply: 

“By all the Imps and Devils! this is the worst ef¬ 
frontery to which I ever listened. And at a later time I 
hope to set forth my opinion of it with something else 
than words. That land was taken, as Master Gibbon 
here knows right well, in satisfaction of various rents 
and assessments due to the Manor from the village. 
It is mine, and I’d like to see any who’d dare attempt 
to take it from me.” 

“Have you papers to that effect?” inquired Myles, 
coolly. 

‘T neither know nor care,” stormed the baronet, 


no 


REDBEARD 


“whether any deeds or parchments have been drawn 
up regarding it What I do know is that that land is 
now and will remain a part of Duvaney Park. Do 
you propose to prove otherwise ?” 

“That remains to be seen/’ replied Myles. “The 
question now is—what disposition will you make of 
the matter now before us?” 

“I commit the prisoner, without bail, for trial on this 
charge at the County Assize,” growled Sir Gilbert. 
“Master Constable, you will see to it that he is taken 
to Shrewsbury and lodged in the jail there before 
night.” 

“If you persist in this course,” declared Myles, “I 
warn you that this man will be vigorously defended 
before the Court, and that the statement I have just 
made will be presented there with ample testimony to 
establish it.” 

“Do so, if you choose,” yelled the other, “and devil¬ 
ish little good will it do you—or this fellow either. 
I’ll show you who’s master at Duvaney. And now 
clear out, all of you. I’m sick of the sight of 
you.” 

The jailer, the constable and their prisoner started 
for the door at once. More deliberately Myles Del- 
aroche followed them. Lawyer Gibbon lingered to 
speak with the baronet, and Myles could hear his thin 
voice raised protestingly and Sir Gilbert’s gruff tones 
in reply. Presently the whole party was on the foot 
path, the prisoner and his keepers half a dozen rods 

III 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


in advance of Myles and Sir Gilbert and the lawyer 
following him at a like distance. 

At the gates they encountered a group of a dozen 
or more of men and boys who had been awaiting the 
result of the hearing. Most of these seemed friendly 
enough to the prisoner and regretful of the fate that 
was overtaking him, but one or two evil-looking fel¬ 
lows gave vent to yells of derision when they saw him 
still manacled to the jailer and thus learned that the 
charge against him had been confirmed at the hearing. 

The knot of idlers trailed behind the jail party on 
its way to the Townhouse; and Myles followed at a 
little distance. He was deeply dejected for he had 
hoped to clear the prisoner at the hearing by taking 
the bold stand he had with regard to the common land; 
but now it appeared that he had been mistaken. Too, 
late, Myles reflected that he would have been acting 
more wisely if he had let Lawyer Gibbon have his way 
at the hearing and had reserved the charge of illegal 
inclosure for use at the Shrewsbury trial. But what 
was done could not be undone, and Myles was more 
fiercely determined than ever to fight the matter 
through to a decision, and, at whatever cost, to pro¬ 
cure for poor John Blackie a legal counselor who 
would make the most of his means of defense. 

Sir Gilbert and the old lawyer had paused at the 
manor gates and now stood in earnest discussion. A 
brisk wind had sprung up and dispelled the early morn¬ 
ing fog, and the whole scene was bathed in wintry 


712 


REDBEARD 


sunlight. The jail party approached a road that 
crossed their way between the Park and the town and 
led to the open country beyond. On this road, and 
a furlong or so from the corner, stood a huge old barn 
of which the great door next the highway stood par¬ 
tially ajar. Myles, happening to glance in that direc¬ 
tion, half consciously noted the legs of horses within 
and wondered whether this outlying building was one 
of the manor stables. 

His eyes had left the doorway and were following 
the movements of the jailer and his companions, and 
his mind was busy with the problem of John Blackie’s 
defense, when he heard cries of alarm from the group 
of followers near the crossing of the roads. Pointing 
fingers directed his eyes again to the stable; and he 
saw that the door had been flung wide open and half 
a dozen armed horsemen had issued from the space 
within. 

Then terrified cries rang out from some of the vil¬ 
lagers: “The Doolicks! Run. Run. ’Tis the Doo- 
licks.’’ 

The members of the group that followed the pris¬ 
oner lost no time in acting on this warning. They 
scattered like a flock of chickens that have sighted the 
hawk. Some leaped the hedge and hid in the ditch 
beyond; one crouched behind a tree; and the others 
ran back toward the Park gates as fast as their legs 
would carry them. 

Myles was too much surprised for any action. He 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


had no weapons with which to fight the robbers and 
no money or valuables to fall into their hands. So 
he merely stood still in the road and awaited the out¬ 
come. 

The riders were some six or seven in number. They 
were led by a tall, mustachioed fellow whom Myles 
instantly recognized as William du Lac—he of the 
long and noble descent and the well-earned skill at 
games of hazard. Beside this leader rode another 
tall ruffian with a huge red beard and with a battered 
felt hat pulled low over his eyes. The whole party 
flourished swords and pistols and were filling the air 
with horrible threats and curses. 

The jailer, the constable, and their prisoner had 
arrived at the crossing, and there stood as if petrified 
in the very tracks of the cavalcade. Such a party 
would seem little more likely than a group of beggars 
to afford any booty for highwaymen. What was 
Myles’ amazement then, when the riders pulled their 
horses to a halt and surrounded this unlikely quarry. 
Two or three of the riders leaped to the ground and 
presented pistols at the heads of the terrified jailer 
and his companion officer of the law. Rough com¬ 
mands were given that they mount the horses from 
which the robbers had just dismounted, and these 
orders, not being instantly obeyed, were enforced with 
vicious pricks from the point of a dagger. 

Bewildered and protesting, the jailer climbed upon 
the tall steed which had been ridden by Redbeard, and 

114 


REDBEARD 


John Blackie, whose wrist was still held by the chain 
and manacle, was made to get up before him. The 
constable was likewise perched up before another of 
the freebooters, and the robbers who had so roughly 
assisted in this mounting sprang up behind some of 
their comrades. Redbeard seized the bridle rein of 
the horse that bore the jailer and his prisoner; and 
the whole party rode away at a furious gallop. In 
a moment the whole yelling crew had disappeared over 
a hilltop in the direction of Doolick Wood. 

Sir Gilbert Duvaney and Lawyer Gibbon were still 
at the manor gates whence they too had witnessed the 
entire performance in the silence of utter bewilder¬ 
ment. The villagers began now to emerge from the 
shelter of the hedge and the ditch that ran beside it, 
and one crawled out from under the strawstack into 
which at first sight of the robbers he had burrowed like 
a fox run to earth. First of this individual then of 
the others, Myles made inquiry as to the coming of 
the Du Lacs and whether they had committed rob¬ 
beries or other crimes within the town. But he quickly 
found that the villagers had been as completely sur¬ 
prised as himself by the sudden appearance of the 
horsemen and were as much at a loss to explain their 
subsequent action. 

A ’prentice lad ventured to the open door of the 
barn from which the Du Lacs had issued, then came 
back on the run, shouting that a dead man was lying 
on the floor within. Myles at once went to the build- 

115 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


ing and found the body of a man lying on the chaff 
at the farther end of the floorway. It was apparent, 
however, that this victim of outlaw violence had been 
merely bound and gagged and was not mortally hurt, 
for he struggled violently as Myles approached and 
turned upon him wide, beseeching eyes. 

To cut the bonds and remove the kerchief that had 
stopped his mouth was the work of a moment. The 
poor fellow gasped and choked and presently sat up 
and looked about him. The villagers, who had by 
this time followed Myles into the barn, at once recog¬ 
nized the victim as Jem Foster of the Millgrange who 
during the winter stabled in the building a workteam 
that he used about the village. In a minute or two, 
with the help of a mug of ale hastily brought from 
the inn, Jem was able to tell what he knew of the 
raid; but this turned out to be so little that it left the 
occurrence fully as mysterious as before. It seemed 
that Jem had come to the barn at daybreak, as was 
his wont, to feed his horses. As soon as he had entered 
and shut the door, he was seized by two men who 
flung him down, stuffed the kerchief into his mouth 
and trussed up his arms and legs so that he could 
scarcely move. He had lain on the floor for what 
seemed half a day at least, listening to the talk and 
laughter of the robbers, but could gather no hint of 
what they meant to do. Then suddenly the doors 
had been thrown open and the whole crew had ridden 
forth. Poor Jem had thought they would fire the 

ii6 


REDBEARD 


barn when they left it, and had almost given himself 
up for lost. He could hardly believe even yet in his 
rescue, and was in mortal fear of the raiders’ return. 

Seeing that nothing further could be learned from 
the villagers, Myles took himself to Blackie’s cottage 
to give such assurance as he might to the goodwife. 
She had already heard the news of the scene at the 
crossroads, and, to Myles’ great relief, seemed to re¬ 
gard what had occurred as being rather fortunate than 
otherwise. 

“It’s little they’ll get in robbing him;” she said, 
“and though they make him join wi’ them for thiev¬ 
ery, I’m thinking he’ll find a way to gi’ them the slip 
at last. If ’tis to the woods they take him, John’ll 
be well at home there and can handle himself wi’ 
any man. At any rate, ’tis better than the Shrewsbury 
Jail and what he’d have from Hanging Harriman.” 

Myles assured her that he would stand by her hus¬ 
band in any event, and, after securing her promise 
to send him word as soon as she had any news of 
John’s whereabouts, made his way back to the inn. 
There he secured a horse for the journey back to 
Grimsby. 

A little after noon he rode up the path to the manor 
and left his mount with old Laurence. Entering the 
house through the kitchen passages, he strode into 
the main hall in search of his father whose aid he 
meant to enlist without delay. What was his amaze¬ 
ment then when the only occupant of the room proved 

117 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


to be a tall fellow with a huge red beard, a low-drawn, 
broad-brimmed hat and long and ragged riding cloak, 
who rose from a chair near the fire and confronted 
him. The man was no other than the robber who 
had ridden beside William du Lac during the raid 
at Duvaney and who had been chiefly active in the 
capture of the jailer and the others. 

Myles stared in utter bewilderment. What in the 
world could have brought the man to Grimsby ? The 
other returned his look with one of fierce defiance. 
Finally when Myles had begun to think he must be 
dreaming and all the strange events of the last three 
hours a nightmare panorama, a loud and ringing laugh 
burst from the robber, his hat and beard were whisked 
away and thrown into the fire, and Arthur Hinsdale 
stood revealed. 

At the sudden change of Myles^ countenance Arthur 
laughed again and uproariously. 

“Oh, Myles he gasped, as he strove to wipe away 
the tears that coursed down his cheeks, “they tell us 
to laugh and grow fat, and, with all my riding to¬ 
day, I have gained five pounds at least with laugh¬ 
ing. Such a sight as you were, standing in the road 
there at Duvaney without so much as a table knife 
in your hands, yet with no more thought of running 
away than an oak tree. And Duvaney and the law¬ 
yer fellow, standing at the manor gates with their 
jaws fallen wide open! It was better than any com¬ 
edy IVe ever yet seen.” 


ii8 


REDBEARD 


By this time Myles was laughing too, while Arthur 
executed a hornpipe step in sheer abandonment. 

‘‘How could you place yourselves in that barn for 
ambush?’’ asked Myles after a time, “for it seemed 
certain none of the villagers knew of your where¬ 
abouts ?” 

“We entered the place as softly as so many mice 
at four o’ the clock. At six the hostler came, and we 
bound and gagged him, as no doubt you have heard. 
We meant to take John Blackie and his noble guards 
on their way to the manor house; but ’twas all so 
thick and foggy they had passed the corner ere we 
knew, so we must needs await their return. ’Twas 
William du Lac’s plan to take all three of them— 
for it seemed he must have his little jest at Sir Gil¬ 
bert’s expense—and I, who had won him to the expe¬ 
dition at some little labor, was not prepared to op¬ 
pose him.” 

“And what became of them? Pray tell me.” 

“Oh, you should have seen them! ’Twas the per¬ 
fect climax of our comedy. When we had reached 
the wood in the hollow there, a mile from the town, 
we put them down, and made the jailer unlock the 
iron cuff on John Blackie’s wrist and fasten it upon 
that of the constable. And when we had them securely 
manacled together thus, we took away the key 
and flung it into a bog. Then some of the Du Lac 
men hauled off the boots and socks from these pris¬ 
oners, and when they stood barefooted in the road- 

119 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


way, William du Lac drew his pistol and bade them 
run for home as fast as their legs might take them. 
He assured them most cruelly that to escape whole¬ 
skinned they might have to run faster than a pistol 
ball could go, and bade them do their best. So they 
started off like a yoke of ill-broken steers that have 
run from their master ere they could be fastened to 
the plow. The way was rough and flinty and their 
bare soles most tender, so presently they slackened 
speed in order to somewhat better pick their footing. 
At that we fired a pistol volley that went safely over 
their heads, but started them forward like a shot at 
a rabbit that runs for cover. The last we saw they 
were half way back to the town and still going might¬ 
ily. Oh, I shall never again see the like of it.’’ 

“And John Blackie, what of him?” 

“John Blackie is by this time well on his way to 
Hinsdale with a note from me to Oswald, our head 
gamekeeper, to give him work as warden. ^Tis a 
day’s journey from Duvaney. Sir Gilbert need never 
set eyes on him again, and he’ll do well enough with 
us. After a month or so I’ll manage to send word 
to his wife to take the little ones and join him. Oh, 
such a battle as we’ve had, with no one killed or 
maimed! I think I shall give over all other occupa¬ 
tions and venture forth on the road as knight-errant 
and reliever of the oppressed. What say you. Master 
Solemn-Face? Can I not carry it off as well as ever 
Don Quixote?” 


120 


REDBEARD 


Sir Anton and Mistress Delaroche now entered, 
and soon the whole party was gathered about the din¬ 
ner table. The elders had heard the whole story 
before Myles’ arrival, but were not averse to hearing 
it repeated in the comical style of which Arthur was 
master. His perilous night journey to Doolick Wood 
thus became a burlesque, mock-heroic tale, and his 
presentation to stern old Sir Thornton, who strongly 
suspected him of being a spy, a bit of delicious com¬ 
edy. But all three of his auditors well knew the 
ways of the du Lacs and their followers and realized 
to the full the dangers Arthur had braved in behalf 
of their former tenant. So, at the end of all his 
merry recounting, their comments were no laughing 
ones; and they thanked him from their hearts for 
his execution of a bold and generous design. 


CHAPTER XI 


LIEUTENANT DELAROCHE 

I N July of the following summer a troop of cav¬ 
alry was organized at Belford by the emissaries 
of the Parliament. Old John Boynton, who had 
served on the Continent twenty years before, was 
chosen as captain, and, by unanimous consent, Myles 
Delaroche was made lieutenant. Each volunteer fur¬ 
nished his own horse and equipment, and a motley 
array was the result. Shaggy fetlocked plow horses 
stood in line with long-limbed hunters of Arabian 
strain, and the maintenance of even ranks was far 
beyond the powers of the troopers. 

Some of the men wore the steel caps and breastplates 
and swung the heavy broadswords that had done duty 
a century and more before, while others had neither 
swords nor armor, but came bearing musketoons and 
fowling pieces which they stoutly averred were far 
more deadly. Most of the recruits were farmers and 
small landowners, and thus well used to riding, but 
few of them had ever borne arms save for brief 
periods with the country trainbands. The Parliament 
commissioners had managed to send from some ar¬ 
mory near London three chests of arms, including a 

122 



LIEUTENANT DELAROCHE 


hundred or more of matchlock pistols and a dozen 
cavalry swords. Finally all the recruits, to the num¬ 
ber of ninety odd, were equipped with the pistols and 
with heavy, long-bladed swords of one fashion or 
another, and the other firearms were discarded as not 
adapted to use by mounted men. 

For three afternoons each week the company prac¬ 
tised cavalry formations and the manuals of sword 
and pistol in a great upland pasture on the Grimsby 
Farm. Only two miles away an infantry company 
of the county militia under that fiery Cavalier, Sir 
James Tilbury, was likewise drilling and maneuver¬ 
ing. There was much speculation as to which party 
would gain the victory if a collision ensued; and am¬ 
bitious youths on both sides had already selected the 
particular antagonists upon whom they hoped to dem¬ 
onstrate the power of a righteous cause. But such a 
battle never took place, for on the twenty-second of 
August King Charles raised the royal standard at Not¬ 
tingham, and called his loyal vassals to his side. Im¬ 
mediately Sir James Tilbury departed thence with his 
whole company, and the vicinity of Belford was left 
in the possession of the Parliamentary forces. 

Captain Boynton soon taught his men the rudi¬ 
ments of cavalry drill; and Myles, who had been a 
fair pistol shot and a master of the broadsword and 
single stick even before his sojourn in London, trained 
them as best he might in groups of a dozen or more 
in the use of their weapons. Eight or ten of the 

123 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


young recruits were sons of country squires; and 
three of the older men were veterans of Continental 
wars. These already had some knowledge of sword 
play, though none of them approached young Dela- 
roche in this respect. Myles quickly singled them out 
and placed them in charge of squads of beginners, 
reserving for his own training those who had already 
made a little progress. He had the gift of inspiring 
enthusiasm in those who worked under his direction, 
and his frank manner and his tireless energy did much 
to offset the natural jealousy felt by men older than 
himself who found themselves subject to his orders. 
Myles worked as hard and perspired as freely on the 
afternoons devoted to drill as if he had been holding 
the breaking plow in the fen lands; and in a surpris¬ 
ingly short time his pupils had gained a measure of 
swordsmanship surpassing that of many long-trained 
cavalrymen. Captain Boynton freely admitted the 
superior abilities of his lieutenant in this branch of 
military training, and proudly enough displayed to 
Sir Anton Delaroche and a few other old soldiers who 
came to watch the maneuvers the work of these raw 
recruits when paired against one another at single¬ 
stick and the sword drill of the entire troop under 
Myles' command. 

With the pistol the men did not do so well. Most 
of them had no experience with firearms save for the 
huge blunderbusses which they had used in hunting 
ducks or foxes; and these with their cannonlike roar 

124 


LIEUTENANT DELAROCHE 


and violent recoil were nearly as frightful behind as 
before. Many of the recruits could never cure them¬ 
selves of the habit, which came from such experience, 
of shutting both eyes when they let off their pieces; 
and this flinching with the sidewise twitch that nearly 
always accompanied it, was not favorable to marks¬ 
manship. The firing of one of these heavy weapons 
on horseback, while moving at a trot or a canter, 
seemed to the novices a considerable feat in itself, to 
say notliing of holding an accurate aim meanwhile. 
Before a month had passed Myles came to the con¬ 
clusion that the great Swedish conqueror, Gustavus 
Adolphus, had been right in maintaining that the 
sword was still the effective weapon of the cavalry¬ 
man. 

Captain Boynton, however, had been trained in a 
school of arms which exalted the pistol as the weapon 
with which a deadly blow might be struck at many 
times sword’s reach. No sooner had he familiarized 
the troopers with the ordinary maneuvers of company 
drill than he began teaching the assault with pistol 
fire, instantly followed by a wheel to the left or right 
and retirement to the rear for reloading. After a few 
days of this training, the troop would manage to dash 
forward and deliver a more or less scattering volley 
at an imaginary enemy, then wheel about without too 
much confusion and retire for a hundred paces to a 
point where they would recharge their weapons. The 
rapidity with which this maneuver could be repeated 

125 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


was supposed to measure the effectiveness of a body 
of mounted soldiery. 

Myles had sought most eagerly to perfect himself 
in all the movements directed by his superior; and he 
spent hours every evening in rehearsing them by 
means of small wooden counters which he moved 
about on a table and in discussing them with his father. 
The elder Delaroche, whose experience had been with 
the infantry, maintained that Captain Boynton was 
thoroughly grounded in the art of war and a most 
admirable drill master. With respect to most things 
Myles was disposed to accept this opinion; but he could 
not bring himself to believe that the fire-and-wheel- 
about maneuver would prove successful on the battle¬ 
field against a well-trained enemy. In the first place, 
he argued, not a quarter of the pistol bullets would 
reach their mark; and, in the second place, asked what 
would happen if the enemy cavalry withstood the 
volley, and then charged with drawn swords the in¬ 
stant the attackers had turned their backs. In such 
a posture he could see nothing but defeat and destruc¬ 
tion. For men who were already in retreat and who 
had nothing in tlieir hands but empty pistols would 
fall easy victims to a column of charging swordsmen, 
and their defeat might leave a fatal gap in the line. 

Sir Anton pulled his beard thoughtfully while he 
considered this, and finally admitted that there was 
reason in it. But he was inclined to think the fire of 
the musketeers should check such a charge and pro- 

126 


LIEUTENANT DELAROCHE 


tect the temporary retirement of the cavalry. Myles 
was far from being convinced, but, bearing in mind 
his total inexperience in war, resolved to be very cau¬ 
tious in expressing his views to his captain and to 
learn all that he might meanwhile from observation 
and the opinions of veterans. 

The next day he found that Captain Boynton had 
planned for a new exercise in swordsmanship that 
simulated battle conditions more closely than any they 
had yet essayed. A line of twenty head-posts, some 
six feet high and eight feet apart, had been erected 
at the farther end of their drill ground. These had 
been wrapped with old clothing and sacks, and were 
to represent a rank of opposing infantry. The cap¬ 
tain drew up the troop in five ranks of eighteen or 
twenty men each and explained that at the word they 
were to charge at full gallop at the line of dummies 
and ride between them. Each man was to deliver as 
he passed a quartering stroke with his blade at the 
figure on his right, as though to shear the head of an 
enemy. Lieutenant Delaroche was to lead the charge 
while the captain posted himself at the right of the 
line to observe the effectiveness of the blows. 

The men greeted this new exercise with enthusiasm; 
and Myles was delighted with a proof of the practical 
nature of his captain's ideas of military training. The 
troop thundered down gloriously upon the simulated 
enemy line, and every man delivered his stroke with 
a will. Nearly every blade reached Its mark, and 

i2y 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


from some of the posts the wrappings were nearly cut 
away. Repetition of this maneuver with some varia¬ 
tions occupied the whole afternoon. Twice it was 
necessary to send for more old sacks and straw to 
enwrap the post heads and save the blades of the 
troopers from being bent or broken on the wood. 
With each fresh trial the young troopers increased 
their command of their horses and weapons; and when 
they rode home in the twilight officers and men alike 
were confident they had gained a measure of skill that 
would count heavily in their favor when they faced 
actual enemies. 

When the company assembled on the next training 
day the posts had been newly enwrapped, and another 
line had been placed eight feet behind them. Before 
the exercise began, however. Lieutenant Delaroche 
made a suggestion to his superior as they stood aside 
together, watching the sergeants who were reviewing 
and correcting the alignment of the ranks. 

“Captain Boynton,’’ he said, “would not our lines 
of figures serve as well for pistol as for sword prac¬ 
tice ?” 

“Why, I see no reason why they would not,” an¬ 
swered the veteran, after a moment’s hesitation, 
“though I have never seen such drilling.” 

“Then I beg of you to let us try it,” said Myles eag¬ 
erly. “Here are fresh wrappings which will show 
the marks of our bullets. And it seems to me ’twill 
be a most useful exercise.” 

128 


LIEUTENANT DELAROCHE 


“Well then,” responded the captain with a smile, 
for he was both fond and proud of his second in 
command, “let it be so, if you will. Have the men 
sheath swords and load pistols. They have as much 
need to master the one as the other.” 

Myles gave the necessary commands; and the com¬ 
pany was soon riding full tilt at the line. The ground 
rose sharply just beyond the posts, and Myles had 
taken the precaution to separate the ranks by fifty 
paces or more so that the bullets from the rearmost 
ranks might not endanger those before. He rode at 
the right of the foremost rank, and his shot was the 
signal for the volley. Each rank of horsemen deliv¬ 
ered its fire as it closely approached the figures, and 
successively passed through the line and up the hill 
beyond. When the last had arrived at the summit 
they wheeled about in close formation and trotted back 
to the drill ground where with glowing face their com¬ 
mander awaited them. 

“Well done!” he cried. “ ’Twas almost worthy of 
a troop of regulars. One or two more trials and 
you’ll hold your lines as well as ever you do at drill 
without weapons. We surely make progress, my lads. 
Our work is not for nothing.” 

Myles had dismounted as he approached the cap¬ 
tain. Now, after duly saluting, he ventured: 

“Let us examine the figures, sir, and mark the hits 
that have been made.” 

“Ah! well bethought,” replied the captain. “Let 

129 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


us count the bullet holes and see if any of our ene¬ 
mies have been left alive/’ 

With his lieutenant at his side, the captain walked 
to the post line and began examining the wrappings 
for bullet marks. The first post was that past which 
Myles had ridden; and it showed where a bullet had 
entered squarely a half a foot from the top. Care¬ 
ful examination of the next post, however, revealed 
no marks at all; and the same was true of the next 
and the next. With growing irritation and dismay 
the captain closely scanned post after post; and it 
was not till he had reached the eighteenth In the line 
that another bullet hole was found. The second rank 
of dummies had escaped even more completely, for 
only one of the wrappings had been torn by a bullet, 
and that was a glancing blow that came within half an 
inch of missing altogether. 

When the inspection had been completed the cap¬ 
tain looked long and hard at Myles while a variety of 
emotions depicted themselves on his countenance. 
Myles gazed Inquiringly In return, without offering 
any comment, and at last the captain said: 

would never in the world have believed it but for 
my own eyes. A hundred men, shooting at two 
paces’ distance, and only three strokes in all! At that 
rate ’twould make wondrous little difference if, when 
loading, they forgot their bullets altogether. ’Twould 
be as well that they were armed with popguns.” 
‘‘They’ll need much more of pistol practice, sir, be- 

130 


LIEUTENANT DELAROCHE 

fore they’re fit for battle with such weapons,” assented 
Myles. 

‘‘Much more!” echoed the captain, hotly, “They’d 
need to shoot fifty loads a day for a year together ere 
they could strike man-sized marks from the backs of 
running horses. You are right, Delaroche, in think¬ 
ing the sword’s the weapon for them. Henceforth 
we’ll work with that alone. There’ll ne’er be time to 
make pistoleers of these fellows. We must soon be on 
the march.” 

“I hear the King will enter Shrewsbury on the mor¬ 
row,” said Myles. 

“Aye, Shrewsbury to-morrow, where he hopes for 
new contingents. And next he’ll take up his march on 
London. Earl Essex, with twenty thousand of our 
men, is already on the road from Northampton; and 
if we do not receive orders soon to ride and join him, 
we may think they have forgotten us.” 

“In that event,” suggested Myles, “it may be as 
well for us to ride toward Northampton on our own 
orders.” 

“Aye, and that we’ll do,” cried Captain Boynton. 
“If I have not orders within three days, we’ll set 
forth without them. I’m sore afraid the fighting will 
be over and done with and we have had no share in 
it if we do not make haste. And after all our riding 
and sweating here, such an outcome would very ill 
suit me—or you either, as I can plainly enough see.” 

Myles smiled, but made no reply; and his superior 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


turned to the company with the shouted command: 
‘^Sheath your pistols/’ 

The rest of the afternoon was devoted to sword 
practice. Twenty times the troop charged down on 
the dummy line. Blades flashed as in a melee tourna¬ 
ment of old; and the coverings were hacked from the 
posts again and again. 

Before the men were dismissed that night they were 
given orders to hold themselves in instant readiness 
for the call. Two days later a rider came with mes¬ 
sages from the Parliamentary headquarters; the troop 
was quickly assembled; fond good-bys were said, and 
Myles and his comrades rode away to the war. 


CHAPTER XII 


EDGEHILL FIELD 

O N a glorious autumn morning, a month after 
Bel ford Troop had reported at the head¬ 
quarters of Lord General Essex, Myles Del- 
aroche rode beside his captain to the top oi a grassy 
hillock on Edgehill field. Thence he saw, spread out on 
either hand in order of battle, the whole armedpowerof 
the Parliament—thousands and thousands of swords¬ 
men, pikemen and musketeers—solid squares of in¬ 
fantry and cavalry in quadruple lines, with the frown¬ 
ing guns and their pyramids of shot in the spaces be¬ 
tween. As he gazed at the magnificent scene and real¬ 
ized that he was himself a part of it, the young officer’s 
heart swelled with pride and gladness. “Surely,” he 
thought, “this is a mighty army, and the victory we 
shall win this day will long be remembered.” 

On the far left wing, and beyond the road to Kine- 
ton, stood rank on rank of heavy cavalry—best armed 
and trained of all the Parliament’s forces and the 
chief dependence of the Puritan commander. Even at 
this distance their great broadswords were visible in 
the glancing sunlight, and one with keen young eyes 
could discern the officers posted at regular intervals 

133 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


in advance of the line and the aides "who galloped back 
and forth between them. Here and there gleamed a 
helmet or hauberk of polished steel, and silken ban¬ 
ners of orange and blue fluttered beauteously in the 
wind. 

On both sides of the main body of foot soldiers, 
and between them and the cavalry, small groups of 
cannon had been placed; and the gunners now stood 
about among them with rammers and sponges in hand 
and with lighted matches ready. The King’s artillery 
had been thundering for an hour, sending solid shot 
from the top of the steep hill a mile away and filling 
the air with a hollow roaring. A few men and horses 
had been struck, but most of the balls passed over the 
heads of the troops or plunged into the low ground 
in front of them. Essex had given strict orders that 
there was to be no reply. Most of his artillery was 
with Hampden’s regiments which were still many 
miles to the rear, and even if all his guns had been 
on the field, he could hope for little from them if used 
against an enemy entrenched on the steep crest of 
Edgehill some hundreds of feet above. Besides, he 
hoped for a move on the King’s part that would nul¬ 
lify this advantage. If the troops of the Parliament 
failed to attack the hill, it might be that Charles with 
his army would descend to meet them. Banbury, to 
the rear of Edgehill, was fortified for the Parliament. 
For lack of supplies, the King could not long main¬ 
tain his present position. It would be folly to turn 

134 


EDGEHILL FIELD 


in retreat in the face of an advancing army; and Es¬ 
sex well knew that there were many of the King’s of¬ 
ficers besides Prince Rupert who would advise an op¬ 
posite course. On these accounts the Puritan com¬ 
mander had determined to take up his stand just be¬ 
yond effective cannon range from the hilltop and to 
wait for the royal army to move down to the plain. 

The Parliamentary center was made up of a solid 
mass of foot soldiers, variously equipped and wholly 
without uniforms or any indication of the force to 
which they belonged save the orange scarfs on their 
arms. Nearly half of them carried long matchlock 
muskets with powder and bullet pouches and the 
forked iron rests which were meant to be driven into 
the ground before them for the bettering of their 
aim. Most of the others were armed with pikes or 
spears of tremendous length for the repelling of as¬ 
saults after a volley had been delivered and while the 
musketeers were recharging their weapons. Some of 
the pikemen wore steel caps and breastplates, while the 
heads of others were covered with steeple-crowned 
felt hats and their bodies with coats of leather or of 
plain gray homespun. Their officers—for the most 
part stern and bearded men of middle age or more— 
walked or rode up and down before the ranks, exhort¬ 
ing in Scriptural phrase these raw recruits to stand 
firm for the right, or stood apart with hands out¬ 
stretched and faces turned to the sky and prayed for 
victory. 


135 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


At the foot of the hill, behind the watchers, two 
small cavalry regiments under Sir William Balfour 
and Sir Philip Stapleton were drawn up in battle ar¬ 
ray. To the second of these the troop from Bel ford 
had been assigned; and Captain Boynton now cast 
frequent glances backward to note the alignment of 
the ranks, the alertness of the minor officers and the 
demeanor of the men so lately drawn from shop and 
farm. 

Still farther back and at the extreme right wing, 
Lord Feilding’s regiment of horse held a position to 
which Earl Essex had assigned it as being least ex¬ 
posed to danger. Lord Feilding had joined the Army 
of the Parliament but a week or so before. His men 
had but little training and some troops were not fully 
armed. The General had learned that fiery Prince 
Rupert would command the right wing of the King’s 
army, and had concluded that the first and most power¬ 
ful attack was to be expected from that quarter. 
Therefore he had placed his best troops on his left 
to meet Rupert’s Cavaliers, and had sent Colonel 
Feilding to the extreme right with orders to take up 
a position a furlong or more behind the front line, 
there to hold his regiment in reserve, and in no event 
to advance without orders. 

Soon after noon it became evident that the army 
of Charles would no longer await the attack on its 
chosen ground. The fire of the royal guns was re¬ 
doubled, and now the artillerists had more accurately 

136 


EDGEHILL FIELD 


determined the range, and some of the balls tore 
through the Parliamentary ranks. Then, suddenly, 
the steep slopes of Edgehill were swarming with men 
and horses. With beating drums and waving flags, 
regiment after regiment of cavalry and infantry 
poured down the slopes, and in a quarter of an hour, 
had ranged themselves in battle formation on the plain 
and only half a mile away. Then indeed the Parlia¬ 
mentary cannon opened fire, and, while the royal guns 
were being lowered to the plain and brought to the 
line, inflicted some measure of injury. But they were 
too few and too unskill fully handled to produce great 
results, and soon the royal artillery was at work again. 
The first salvo was directed at the Parliamentary bat¬ 
teries, and served to demonstrate beyond question the 
skill of the German artillerists who served the King. 
When the cloud of smoke and dust that had momen¬ 
tarily hidden the Puritan cannon was dissipated Myles 
beheld a scene of carnage and destruction. Several 
of the guns had been broken or dismounted and more 
than half the cannoneers lay wounded or dead among 
them. 

Just then the hillock upon which Myles and his cap¬ 
tain had stationed themselves was approached by a 
small group of horsemen who rode at a gallop from 
the direction of the parliamentary center. Myles in¬ 
stantly recognized the Lord General and his staff, and 
both he and Captain Boynton saluted as the party came 
up the slope and made way for the General to occupy 

137 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


the most favorable post for observation of the field. 

‘‘My lord/^ said one of tlie older officers to the Earl 
as they drew their horses to a stand, “shall we not 
give the order to our cavalry to charge ere they can 
rightly establish themselves yonder? In that way we 
may gain a victory, while if we leave it much longer 
to the cannon, they will cut us to pieces.^^ 

The Lord General shook his head. 

“There’ll be charging enough anon,” he said, “and 
our men, with their little training, are better fitted to 
stand fast and repel assaults than to make them. We 
have already gained the worth of ten thousand men 
in drawing our enemy from yonder hilltop. Let us 
wait a little longer and see what betides.” 

“See!” cried another officer, pointing with out¬ 
stretched arm at the right of the royal army, “Prince 
Rupert makes ready to charge. Pray God our men 
do stand fast.” 

All shaded their eyes with their hands and gazed at 
at the forward-surging mass of enemy horsemen. The 
artillery fire had been so light on the Parliamentary 
side that but small and scattered clouds of smoke ob¬ 
scured the view, and between these the brisk October 
air was as clear as though a hard frost locked the 
eartli. Now the distant line broke into a gallop and 
waving swordblades flashed in the sunshine. An in¬ 
tervening hedge and ditch were cleared by rank after 
rank of the riders in a manner that showed their fa¬ 
miliarity with the hazards of the hunting field. Though 

138 


EDGEHILL FIELD 


most of the royal troopers were as new to actual war 
as those of the Parliament, it was clear that nearly 
every man among them was a skillful horseman and 
had thus already learned the half of the mounted sol¬ 
dier’s trade. Essex groaned as he watched them. 
“Ah!” he said, “if our men could ride like that!” 

“Seel” cried the officer who had first noted Rupert’s 
advance, “by all that’s Holy! Fortescue rides to meet 
them.” 

Now a smoke cloud lifted, and this movement was 
clearly seen by all the watchers. A great body of the 
Parliamentary horse on the extreme left wing had 
driven forward straight toward the charging enemy. 
All of the little group on the hillock held their breaths 
and gazed as though spellbound. Myles set his teeth as 
he awaited the shock of the encounter and fiercely 
gripped the hilt of his weapon. The two bodies of 
horsemen were approaching one anotlier at full gal¬ 
lop. In another instant would come the deadly col¬ 
lision. Then suddenly the Parliamentary line wavered 
and halted and their banners fluttered forward to the 
ground. 

“Oh, the cowards!” shouted one. “Will they sur¬ 
render with never a blow?” 

But far worse than a surrender was to ensue. As 
the Cavalier line approached and seemed to coalesce 
with that of Fortescue’s cavalry, those faithless troop¬ 
ers wheeled about and charged, sword in hand, straight 
back upon their comrades. 

139 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


^Treason!’’ groaned the General. ‘‘Oh! if For- 
tescue survives this day and we can e’er lay hands 
upon him, he shall hang higher than Haman.” 

To this there was no reply from the other officers, 
for at that moment the traitorous horsemen, with Rup¬ 
ert’s Cavaliers on either hand, struck the main body 
of the Parliament’s cavalry in the flank. A ter rifle 
melee ensued, with flashes from a thousand pistols 
intermixed with those from gleaming sword blades 
and the sight of men and horses falling everywhere. 

Rupert’s men fought with swords only, and, like 
armored knights of old, they left death in their track. 
Half of their opponents had pistols in their hands, 
which after the first blind volley were empty and use¬ 
less, and all were bewildered and shaken by For- 
tescue’s desertion. Scores and hundreds went down 
beneath the sword strokes, and only here and there a 
little group made determined stand. Almost from the 
first the Parliamentary ranks had been broken and 
the whole shattered array had given ground. 

Then the horsemen in the rearmost ranks began 
to break away and flee. Soon the whole body was in 
flight toward the infantry with the Cavalier horsemen 
at their heels, hacking and hewing like demons. Per¬ 
haps the routed Parliamentarians hoped to find pro¬ 
tection among the pikes of the infantry. If so, their 
thought was worse than vain for the whole tangled 
mass of pursuers and pursued poured over the regi¬ 
ments of foot as a mountain flood with a thousand 

140 


EDGEHILL FIELD 


tons of floating debris pours over a valley corn¬ 
field. 

Instantly the slaughter grew ten times worse. Pike- 
men and musketeers were cut down by the royal 
swordsmen and trampled by the leaping and rearing 
horses of friends and foes alike. On plowed the tide 
of carnage till four whole regiments of infantry had 
been crushed and scattered like a mob of drunken riot¬ 
ers. Then, when the survivors of the beaten cavalry 
had somehow extricated themselves from the mael¬ 
strom, they spurred away across the fields and down 
the road toward Kineton with Rupert and all his men 
galloping madly in pursuit and mercilessly cutting 
down any whom they could overtake. 

Now another body of horsemen left the royalist 
position and spurred with might and main along the 
left flank of the Parliament troops and disappeared 
in the wake of Rupert and his victims. These had 
come from the very center, and were the guards who 
had until then surrounded the royal banner. Myles 
wondered greatly at this, for the center and right of 
Essex^s army was still intact; and these mad horse¬ 
men behaved as though their victory were already won 
and they feared to be behindhand in the seizure of 
spoil. In another moment, however, he forgot them, 
for the tide of war surged nearer to the hillock where 
the General and his aides had posted themselves; bul¬ 
lets in numbers that increased from moment to mo¬ 
ment were whining past their heads, and still another 

141 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


body of royal cavalry appeared on their right and 
bore down toward them. 

Captain Boynton and Lieutenant Delaroche quickly 
took up their positions at the head of Belford Troop; 
hurried orders were given, and the whole line stood 
ready to charge at the General’s word. 

Standing thus behind the hillock, the troopers were 
out of sight of the cavalry they had seen advancing; 
and for several minutes they tensely awaited their 
coming. Then they experienced a bewildering and ter¬ 
rifying surprise. The enemy had swept around a 
copse of trees far to the right and fallen fur¬ 
iously upon the Feilding regiment, forty rods behind 
them. 

Again, and at much closer range, they beheld the 
awful scenes which had ensued upon Prince Rupert’s 
charge. Some of the bolder spirits in Belford Troop 
could scarcely be restrained from leaving their post 
to go to the rescue of their comrades. Others turned 
white and giddy with the sight and could hardly sit 
upright in their saddles. 

With bravery indeed, but with a pitiful lack of skill, 
Feilding’s recruits withstood the attack for a time, 
using swords and pistols and even clubs and axes in¬ 
discriminately and desperately, losing all control of 
their horses in the melee and suffering terrific 
slaughter. Then the remnant broke and fled; and 
again the royal horsemen followed, hewing down the 
stragglers, surrounding desperate groups in ditches 

142 


EDGEHILL FIELD 


and fence corners and swiftly turning their victory 
into a massacre. 

Meanwhile the Lord General had been sitting upon 
his horse on the hillock, surrounded by his bewildered 
advisers and viewing what seemed the total destruc¬ 
tion of his army. Myles looked up from his post and 
saw the Earl with his face buried in his hands to shut 
out the sights that were driving him to madness. As 
the young lieutenant gazed at tliis piteous spectacle, 
his gorge rose within him, and for an instant he felt 
the deathly sickness of utter disgust and despair. Just 
then the Earl withdrew his hands from his eyes and 
sat erect. 

“Gentlemen,’’ he said in a voice of utter misery, 
“the day is lost. All is lost save the honor of English¬ 
men. Our army and the hope of our cause is de¬ 
stroyed. But we may yet save that which is dearer to 
us than life, though we lay our bones upon this field. 
Follow me.’’ 

Setting spurs to his horse, the Lord General gal¬ 
loped away toward the center where a number of in¬ 
fantry regiments still stood firm among a hail of bul¬ 
lets and answered the royalist fire with determined 
volleys. Snatching a pike from a soldier, he threw 
himself from his horse, then, followed by all his aides, 
ran forward to plant himself in the van. 

That part of the line held by Belford Troop had 
thus far been partly sheltered from the royalist fire 
by the hillock directly in front; but now the enemy 

143 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


line was nearer; a serious cross-fire was developing, 
and more and more often bullets whistled over their 
heads or passed among them. Two of the soldiers 
and some of the horses were struck down, and the 
other men, to whom such harrowing sights were new, 
showed signs of dismay. Captain Boynton sternly 
closed the ranks and ordered every man to look 
straight before him. He had hardly uttered this com¬ 
mand when a bullet struck him full in the face. With¬ 
out a sound he threw up his hands and fell headlong 
from his saddle. 

Half a dozen of the troopers cried out in horror 
at this catastrophe, and others crowded about to view 
the body of their fallen leader. In the rearmost rank 
two or three white-faced lads began backing their 
horses away. 

The moment was terrible beyond words. The honor 
of Belford Troop and the integrity of the Parliamen¬ 
tary line wavered perilously in the balance. In another 
instant the company would have been flying, panic- 
stricken, from the field; but Myles Delaroche dashed 
toward the shrinking troopers, pistol in hand and with 
match alight and ready. 

“To your places!” he shouted menacingly. “I am in 
command here, and Til shoot the first man who gives 
way.’’ 

The frightened lads drew back to their places. 
Then with a few sharply spoken commands Lieutenant 
Delaroche realigned the ranks as upon the drill ground. 

144 


EDGEHILL FIELD 


Even the rawest of recruits recognizes the voice of 
competent command. 

The men obeyed promptly and showed no further 
signs of thinking themselves without a leader. In a 
moment this regained morale proved of priceless v'^orth, 
for Colonel Stapleton came galloping along the line 
and shouted : 

“They’re coming, boys. Make ready. Stand fast 
for God’s sake. Who’s in command here?” 

“I am, sir,” answered Myles with a salute. 

“You? Is Boynton down? Oh! where are these 
mens’ pistols ?” shouted the colonel, distractedly, “and 
they have not their matches lighted 1” 

“No, sir,” replied Myles steadily. “These men are 
not well trained to the pistol. They fight much better 
with the sword.” 

“Aye, Colonel, and so do mine,” came a deep voice 
from just behind them. “I have given them orders 
to use the sword only.” 

Myles wheeled about and saw a powerfully built 
man of middle age, mounted upon an iron-gray horse 
and bearing upon hat and sleeve the indications of a 
captain’s rank. Even in that moment of imminent 
peril, the stranger’s stern and rock-jawed countenance 
and piercing gray eyes made an indelible impression 
on his mind. But Colonel Stapleton was replying, hes¬ 
itatingly : 

“Say you so. Captain Cromwell? Your words, I 
know, are likely to be well thought upon; but do not 

145 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


some of the best authorities believe the pistol to be 
the more deadly?’^ 

“Aye, that they may do, but even before our eyes 
this day we have twice seen cavalry that used it driven 
in rout by swordsmen/’ 

“Right! You are right indeed,” answered the colo¬ 
nel decisively. “Go ride down the line. Captain, I 
pray you, and deliver my word to all the other troop 
commanders that they have their men sheath their 
pistols and prepare to fight as we have seen these 
bloody and malignant ones to-day—with swords and 
swords only. And make haste for our turn will 
quickly come.” 

Without more words. Captain Cromwell wheeled his 
horse about and spurred away down the line. The 
colonel rode in the other direction, and Myles turned 
back to his troop. The ranks were perfectly ordered, 
and a firmer spirit was plainly visible on the faces of 
the men. 

Just then a line of enemy infantry appeared only 
three hundred yards away and stretching far across 
the field on left and right. On the rising ground be¬ 
hind it came rank after rank of musketeers and pike- 
men. The whole royal army was charging down on the 
regiments that still maintained the Parliamentary line. 
Both wings of the Puritan army were broken and 
scattered. If now the center gave way, nothing could 
prevent a hideous rout and the utter ruin of the Par¬ 
liament’s cause. 


146 


EDGEHILL FIELD 


But the regiments of Stapleton and Balfour were 
not to stand awaiting the fate that had befallen the 
other bodies of Parliamentary cavalry. Colonel Staple- 
ton now reappeared in front of Belford Troop. Wav¬ 
ing his sword about his head, he shouted madly: 

‘‘Charge, and God be with us.’' 

Then he whirled about and rode straight toward the 
advancing line of pikes and muskets. Lieutenant Del- 
aroche repeated his colonel’s order, then spurred for¬ 
ward, sword in hand, and only two paces behind him. 
At the same instant the whole line of horsemen went 
forward with an ear-splitting battle yell that seemed 
to proceed from one gigantic throat. 

Bullets tore through the ranks and emptied many a 
saddle. Horses went down and threw their riders 
among the trampling hoofs of the ranks that followed. 
Yet the line went forward with a roar, and in a mo¬ 
ment dashed itself upon the oncoming battalions. Men 
and horses impaled themselves upon the points of 
pikes stubbornly held with their hafts to the ground. 
Men were shot with muskets the muzzles of which 
were pressed against their bodies or dashed from their 
saddles by whirling gun butts. The charge was al¬ 
most halted by the very mass of bodies it encountered. 
But the infantry line was utterly broken and hundreds 
went down under the heavy swords of the horsemen 
and the iron-shod hoofs of their steeds. Myles was 
fighting side by side with his colonel; and the two 
skilled swordsmen hewed a wide path forward. The 

147 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


men of Belford, all their terrors forgotten, fought like 
veterans of a hundred fields. 

All around them were scenes of carnage like those 
they had twice before that day beheld at a distance. 
But now it was their own line that pressed forward 
and their enemies who fell before their weapons. 
Straight through the lines they plowed, leaving be¬ 
hind only scattered fighting groups or terrified indi¬ 
viduals who threw down their arms and begged for 
mercy. 

On their left, Balfour with his troopers was dupli¬ 
cating their triumphs. Still farther, the Puritan in¬ 
fantry regiments were standing firm against the royal¬ 
ist onslaught. Myles, whose heart had been as lead 
with the slaughter and defeat he had seen from the 
hilltop, now began to breathe the breath of victory. 
They had completely pierced the royal center; and 
Balfour had charged the artillery, killed or scattered 
the gunners and seized the cannon. 

All the thoughts of Myles Delaroche had been a 
tumult and a madness; but now in a moment’s pause 
a sudden memory came to him, followed at once by 
a dazzling vision of victory snatched from defeat. 
Frantically clutching the arm of his colonel, he shouted 
in his ear.* 

‘‘They have no horsemen left. All have ridden away 
after our men whom they defeated. We can circle 
about and take their other foot regiments in the rear.” 

Stapleton sat erect and shouted orders to Cromwell 

148 



HERE THE SLAUGHTER WAS THE WORST OF THE ENTIRE DAY. 



















EDGEHILL FIELD 


and the other captains who were approaching from 
either hand. In a moment’s time the regiment was 
galloping forward again. After riding a hundred 
yards toward the hill, they turned to the left and swept 
around upon the rear of the regiments which were 
attacking the Parliamentary center. Balfour’s men 
saw the movement and could not be restrained from 
joining it. Abandoning the captured guns, they gal¬ 
loped at the side of their comrades and the two regi¬ 
ments crashed at once upon the rear of the royalist 
army. 

Here the slaughter was the worst of the entire day, 
for the foot soldiers were taken unprepared and could 
not quickly enough face about to meet this new men¬ 
ace. The royal standard was in this part of the field, 
though King Charles had been induced to retire to the 
hilltop when the battle became general. Balfour’s 
horsemen hewed their way toward the flag, and soon 
had cut down its brave defender and seized the en¬ 
sign. 

Nothing, it would seem, could save the King’s army 
from defeat and annihilation. Some of his regiments 
had been cut to pieces and others had fled from the 
field. Only two regiments remained intact; and Bal¬ 
four and Stapleton were reforming their ranks to 
charge upon these, when some one observed the re¬ 
turn of Rupert’s cavalry which had galloped back 
from Kineton on hearing of the breaking of the royal 
line. 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


Essex was now again on horseback, and, repenting 
his desperate folly of an hour before, had resumed 
control of his army. Wilmot, who commanded the 
King’s horsemen who had destroyed Feilding’s regi¬ 
ment, now returned also; and these accessions to the 
royalist forces made it unlikely that further assaults 
would be successful. 

It was already twilight, and the energies of the 
fighters on both sides were exhausted. So messengers 
were sent by the commander to the scattered Parlia¬ 
mentary forces ordering them to reoccupy the posi¬ 
tions they had held in the morning. When night fell 
they were sullenly facing their enemies upon a field 
where the deeds of a few hundred determined men 
had made a drawn battle of that which had seemed 
an irretrievable defeat. 


CHAPTER XIII 


THE CAVALIER CAPTAIN 

T he sun was just rising over the frost-covered 
moor to the east of a lonely Shropshire road 
and gilding the summits of the rocks on the 
pastured hills that rose abruptly on the other side, 
when a little group of horsemen drew rein at a way- 
side spring where they were sheltered by a thick-grow¬ 
ing clump of yew and hazel. While the weary horses 
drank or grazed, the men busied themselves with 
adjusting girths or saddle rolls, renewed the priming 
of their pistols or conversed with one another in low 
and cautious tones. 

Meanwhile their leader, Captain Delaroche of 
Stapleton’s Horse, flung himself from his saddle and 
approached a pair of troopers both of whom bestrode 
the same mount, a big roan gelding that now drank 
eagerly from the little stream. He who rode behind 
the saddle had a livid bruise across his forehead; he 
was pale and faint from weariness, and had evident 
need to embrace his comrade’s body to save himself 
from falling. 

‘^How fares it with you. Sergeant?” asked the cap¬ 
tain, speaking in a low voice though in a warm and 
heartening tone. 


153 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


The trooper made a wry face as he replied: 

“Why, Captain! it could hardly be worse. My leg 
is surely broken. And what with the pain of it and 
the doubt of our winning through, I could wish most 
heartily it had been my neck instead.” 

“Oh, fie!” answered the captain in a tone one might 
use to an ailing child, “we’ll have you safely at Stock- 
ton Grange in an hour’s time. And there is old Sur¬ 
geon Pound to set your leg and a good bed to lie on 
while it mends. Before midsummer you’ll ride with 
Belford Troop once more.” 

Another spasm of pain crossed the soldier’s counte¬ 
nance, and he closed his eyes wearily. 

“Perhaps ’twill be so, captain,” he replied. “But 
there’s many a long day before then; and now your 
care of me in this wise holds back our party sorely. 
Had it not been for that rolling stone in the ford and 
my horse’s falling and catching my leg beneath him 
we would ere this have been at Stockton. It was no 
part of your plan or of worthy Colonel Stapleton’s 
that we should ride thus in broad daylight where every 
copse might hold a company of Rupert’s men. ’Twere 
better even now that you put me down here by the 
brook, for the first passer-by to relieve as he might, 
and be not hampered in your further riding.” 

“Nay, Sergeant,” said the captain earnestly. “The 
first passers might well be some of the King’s men 
who’d put a bullet through you sooner than cumber 
themselves. Think not of our leaving you in any such 

154 


THE CAVALIER CAPTAIN 


helpless state. I say again we’ll come to Stockton in 
an hour, and your misfortune shall be mended in so 
far as surgeon’s skill may serve. What ho, lads! Let 
us ride.” 

Springing to his saddle, the young leader reined his 
horse into the trodden way and rode away at a can¬ 
ter. His men quickly followed his example, and, rid¬ 
ing in double file, made their way southward across 
the moor toward the place some two or three miles 
distant where the road turned toward the hills and 
entered a dense oak wood. One of their number was 
a native of this countryside, and he assured the cap¬ 
tain that from the first hill they would surmount after 
emerging from the wood the roofs of Stockton Grange 
could plainly be seen. 

It was a year and more since the bloody and inde¬ 
cisive struggle at Edgehill. The tide of war had 
surged to and fro, with the soldiers of both parties 
eagerly hoping for final victory from each clash at 
arms. The Puritans had been worsted at Adwalton 
Moor, where Myles had been severely wounded, and 
again at Roundway Down, while he lay in the hos¬ 
pital. At Newbury the stubborn fighting of the Lon¬ 
don train bands amongst the walls and hedges had 
turned what seemed a defeat to a partial victory. On 
the whole the fortunes of the Parliament were steadily 
waning. The King controlled more territory than had 
acknowledged his authority a year before, and he had 
prospects, more or less definite, of armed assistance 

155 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


from France, from Denmark and from Ireland. The 
Puritan forces had no leader who could command at 
once the authority of Parliament and the enthusiastic 
loyalty of the soldiers. Lord General Essex, though 
the soul of honor and courage, was of a mind too 
doubtful and hesitating for a great commander; and 
it was widely believed in London and at the camp that 
he had twice or tlirice lost opportunities for blows 
that might have proven decisive. 

Colonel Oliver Cromwell, with some companies of 
dour-faced Puritans from Lincolnshire, who rode and 
fought as earnestly as they preached and prayed, and 
some of ragamuffin adventurers from nobody knows 
where, who would sing a psalm, dance a jig or cut a 
throat with equal readiness, was seizing and destroy¬ 
ing a succession of royalist strongholds in the Mid¬ 
lands. Elsewhere the outlook was gloomy. Dis¬ 
couragement was rife in London and in the army of 
Essex, and treason itself had not been lacking. Some 
members of Parliament deserted Westminster and 
joined the King at Oxford. Sir Hugh Cholmley, Gov¬ 
ernor of Scarborough, schemed for the delivery of 
his charge to the royal agents; and even the deter¬ 
mined loyalty of his second in command and the 
greater part of the garrison could not save the for¬ 
tress. Old Sir John Hotham who, in the spring of 
1642, had been the first to bid defiance to the King 
by refusing him admittance to the city of Hull, had, 
but a year or so later, plotted with his son, a captain 

156 


THE CAVALIER CAPTAIN 


in the Parliamentary army, to yield up to the royal¬ 
ists both Hull and Lincoln. The intended treachery 
had been discovered and the conspirators arrested 
barely in time to prevent the utter ruin of the Parlia¬ 
mentary cause. 

As the winter set in, Colonel Stapleton, with six 
troops of horse, went into camp at Dudley, with 
orders from General Essex to make secure for the 
Parliament’s cause and the collection of the new taxes 
as large a portion as he might of the surrounding 
country. In pursuit of this object. Captain Delaroche 
with ten of the members of Bel ford Troop had been 
despatched to reinforce the small garrison at Stock- 
ton Grange, some forty miles to the westward. They 
were to ride by night, since they traversed a region 
occupied by irregular bodies of Cavalier troops and 
dotted by castles and manor houses, most of which 
were held in the name of the King. Their effort to 
reach Stockton before dawn had been defeated by 
the accident to Sergeant Busby at the Cattle Ford 
which marked the half of their journey; and now the 
rising sun found them still ten miles and more from 
the Grange. 

A low mist hung over the plain and favored the ad¬ 
vance of horsemen who wished to remain unseen. As 
they left the moor, however, and turning to the right, 
mounted the steep road toward the wood, they found 
themselves in clearer air, and could not doubt that 
their party would be plainly visible to any watchers 

157 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


within half a mile. With this in mind, Myles, ac¬ 
companied by only one of the troopers, rode well 
ahead to reconnoiter the wood’s edge and the road 
that ran straight through it and over the hilltop 
beyond. 

Fortune seemed to favor their enterprises, for not 
only was all quiet at the point where the road en¬ 
tered the forest, but the path was clear before them 
for nearly a mile beyond. Neither man nor beast 
was to be seen between them and the arch of glorious 
blue sky where the road emerged upon the pastured 
hillside. 

Turning in his saddle, Myles beckoned eagerly to 
his followers, then spurred forward at a trot. Soon 
they had overtaken him, and the whole party rode at 
a canter up the slope and toward the open ground. 
Then grim disaster assailed and overwhelmed them. 
They suddenly became aware of another road that 
crossed their way at right angles a furlong within 
the wood. At the same instant they caught sight of 
a body of horsemen tlirice as numerous as their own 
that rode straight toward them upon this cross road 
and that wore the broad, plumed hats and varicolored 
doublets and hose of the Cavaliers. 

For a breathless moment both parties hesitated; 
then, with a yell of hate and triumph, the royalist 
horsemen charged. There was no time for retreat or 
for the counting of chances. In an instant came the 
fierce melee, with the flash and roar of pistols, the 


THE CAVALIER CAPTAIN 


steely clang of swords and the shouts and groans of 
victor and vanquished. 

Myles Delaroche, in desperate endeavor to save his 
party from destruction, fought as he had never fought 
before. Standing erect in his stirrups, he slashed 
and thrust like a Crusader knight on the plains of 
Jerusalem, his terrible blade hewing a space before 
him whichever way he turned. But his men were 
from the first outnumbered and overborne. Poor 
Busby and his comrade on the roan gelding had fallen 
at the first onslaught; and scarce two minutes had 
passed ere all the others were thrust or beaten down 
or in full flight along the way they had come. Down 
the rocky pathway they galloped furiously, each luck¬ 
less fugitive closely pursued by half a dozen yelling 
and cursing enemies. 

Captain Delaroche alone held his ground. There 
had been no demand for surrender and no word of 
quarter, and his only thought was to sell his life as 
dearly as he might. He was still unwounded, but 
was now surrounded by three of the Cavalier troop¬ 
ers who savagely cut and slashed at him from all di¬ 
rections at once. So beset, Myles had no instant’s 
time for attack, but must strain every nerve to guard 
his breast and throat; and he well knew that such a 
battle could have but one ending. A moment more 
and he would fall beneath a shower of blows. 

Then, above the clash of swordblades, he heard the 
sound of galloping hoofs and a voice that shouted 

159 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


unintelligible commands. The next instant the horses 
of two of his assailants were thrown aside by the 
rush of a great white charger, and he found himself 
face to face with a Cavalier officer. The newcomer 
waved a heavy sword in one hand and swung the other 
arm about his head like a boxer warding an expected 
blow, and all the while kept shouting unheard words. 

Without an instant’s stay, Myles attacked this new 
enemy. A sweeping feint at the plume-crowned head 
was transformed to a stab like that of a lightning bolt, 
straight toward his adversary’s throat—a pass that 
he had striven for years to perfect and that had served 
him well at need. But the blow was expertly warded, 
and Myles knew at once from the firmness of the parry 
that he was facing a swordsman who, even without 
aid from the others, would prove a most dangerous 
antagonist. Strangely enough, the thrust was not re¬ 
turned in the critical instant following its delivery 
while Myles leaned perilously forward. Neither were 
any further blows directed at the Puritan captain by 
the Cavalier horseman on the other side. Myles had 
recovered his guard and was seeking an opening for 
another attack when, to his utter amazement, he heard 
his own name among his opponent’s shouted words: 

‘‘Myles! Myles Delaroche! Don’t you know me ? 
It’s Hinsdale. Surrender now. Surrender to me that 
I may save your life.” 

In bewilderment, Myles dropped the point of his 
sword and peered into the face of the man before him. 

i6o 


THE CAVALIER CAPTAIN 


His age seemed at least eight-and-twenty, for his lips 
and chin were hidden by the upturned mustachios and 
the small pointed beard that many of the Cavaliers 
affected in compliment to the King; and he wore the 
insignia of a captain in the royal cavalry. But he 
was, nevertheless, no other than the youth whom 
Myles had beaten at the foils at the Academie de la 
Rapiere and who had been his gay and carefree com¬ 
panion through well remembered days. 

^‘Zounds!’’ he cried, between his gasps for breath. 
‘T knew you but in the nick of time. Another minute 
and my men would have thrust you through, e’en 
though you fight like the Devil himself. My faith! 
but ’tis lucky I could make you prisoner.” 

‘Tt is, indeed, Captain Hinsdale,” said Myles, as 
he tendered his sword, hilt foremost, to his captor, 
‘‘and I must humbly thank you for saving my life at 
some risk of your own—for, truly, I tried hard enough 
to pierce your throat when you came before me, and 
before I knew your design.” 

“Say no more of it, Myles, I beg of you,” smiled 
Arthur. “Another day the fortune may be reversed, 
for such are the chances of this war of ambush and 
skirmishing we’re engaged upon.” 

“But now that I am your prisoner,” returned 
Myles, “how mean you to dispose of me ?” 

“Why, that will not be hard, indeed. Hinsdale Hall 
is scarce five miles from here, as perhaps you know. 
My father holds the place for the King, and I, during 

i6i 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


the winter months, make part of its garrison. We’ll 
ride thither, if you please.” 

Myles bowed gravely, and, unstrapping his pistol 
holster, handed it to the soldier who had been the 
third among his assailants. With three long-drawn 
blasts of a whistle. Captain Hinsdale summoned his 
scattered troopers. A detail was left to bury the dead 
and another to bear in the wounded. Then, at a rapid 
trot, the detachment moved toward Hinsdale Hall 
with the comrades whom war had parted riding side 
by side in the lead. 


CHAPTER XIV 


HINSDALE HALL 


H insdale hall was a beautiful old resi¬ 
dence of stone and tile, half castle and half 
manor house. Located on a gentle emi¬ 
nence in the midst of noble parks and groves, it com¬ 
manded a view on the one side of forested hills and 
a willow-bordered stream and on the other of the 
roofs and whitewashed walls of Hinsdale Village, a 
quarter of a mile away, and the ivy covered tower 
of the parish church. 

Throwing himself from his horse in the courtyard, 
Captain Hinsdale led the way up the brick-paved path¬ 
way toward the great doors. The troopers took 
charge of their mounts and led them toward the ample 
stables in the rear where a score or more of soldiers 
in varied Cavalier costumes lolled in the sunshine or 
played at dice and hazard. Myles followed his captor 
unquestioningly through the entrance lobby to the 
broad, low-arched hall within. There, in the half 
light, after the brilliant morning sunshine, he stood 
for a moment like an awkward schoolboy, blinking in 
surprise at what he saw. 

The round oaken table in the center, glorious with 

163 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


snowy napery and burnished silver furnishing, was 
laden with a bounteous repast, awaiting the downsit¬ 
ting of the master and his guests. Ranged before the 
fireplace, with its cheery blaze of beechwood logs, 
were Sir William and Mistress Hinsdale and several 
other persons whose faces Myles at first could but 
dimly discern. The first was a tall and stately old man 
in the garb of a clergyman of the Church of England, 
the second a stout and rubicund gentleman in the cos¬ 
tume of the Court, and the third a slender young lady 
of seventeen with dark, abundant hair and round, 
black eyes. 

Arthur stood aside as if to permit Myles to ad¬ 
vance, and the young Puritan captain recognized his 
redoubtable uncle, James Dalrymple of Surrey Lane. 
And beyond a doubt the young lady at his side was 
little Lucy whom he had last seen three years before 
in the half darkness of the London lane when she had 
so persistently endeavored to leave with him her little 
purse of guineas. 

Stiffly, Myles bowed before his kinspeople and to 
Mistress Hinsdale and her husband. In his mind was 
utter confusion. He had no idea whether his status 
in this house was to be that of a hated enemy and 
prisoner or that of an old-time friend. Arthur’s man¬ 
ner on the ride thither had been cordial; but, con¬ 
trary to his wont of old, he had said but little, and 
Myles had been following his usual plan when placed 
in situations new to him—that of using his eyes and 

164 


HINSDALE HALL 


ears far more than his voice. Sir William and 
Mistress Hinsdale awaited an explanation. Uncle 
James and Lucy stared back at Myles without a 
word, their manner plainly showing that their aston¬ 
ishment at this encounter was no whit less than his 
own. 

Arthur was the first to break the silence. With a 
hearty and ringing laugh that was quite in his olden 
manner, he cried: 

“Zounds! Good Master Dalrymple, your eyes 
stand out as though you saw a ghost. This is no other 
than your beloved nephew, now Captain Delaroche of 
Stapleton’s Horse. Is he not after all a fine upstand¬ 
ing soldier—one of whom all his family may be 
proud ?” 

“And what does he here, Captain Arthur?” asked 
the Registrar, thickly. “Has he come to offer his sub¬ 
mission to the officers of the King?” 

“I rather think not,” was the reply in a somewhat 
more serious tone. “Captain Delaroche is the last of 
a small party of Parliamentary Horse whom my pa¬ 
trol came suddenly upon this morning in Dugdale 
Wood. I came up but just in time to see the last of 
it and, with the aid of some troopers that surrounded 
him, to make a prisoner of our enemy-friend. He 
has yielded up his weapons to be sure; and I fear must 
be our guest for the time, regardless of any other en¬ 
gagements he may have made; but from what I heard 
and saw of his sword play, I judge that he has no pres- 

165 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


ent thought of abandoning the Roundhead cause and 
seeking tlie King’s pardon.” 

'‘Captain Hinsdale thinks rightly,” said Myles 
gravely, directing his words by turns to James Dal- 
rymple, to Lucy and to Sir William Hinsdale. “It has 
been my misfortune to have my detachment over¬ 
whelmed and destroyed and myself to have been made 
prisoner of war; but while I live I am loyal to the 
Parliament, and seek from the King neither pardon 
nor any other favors.” 

“By my faith, then!” seethed Dalrymple, his cheeks 
and ears growing as red as the wattles of a turkey 
cock, “you are no nephew of mine, and naught but 
a cursed Roundhead. And if Captain Arthur brings 
you here as one fit to sit at meat with ladies and gen¬ 
tlemen who are loyal to Church and King, I must, beg¬ 
ging his pardon, decline to agree with him. If such 
is to be your status here, I say, my daughter and I must 
withdraw from the house.” 

With high-held chin and flaming eyes the King’s 
Registrar gazed angrily at the recalcitrant youth, then 
turned and confronted Captain Arthur and Sir Wil¬ 
liam Hinsdale. Mistress Hinsdale uttered some gentle 
words with peace-making intent; but these were hardly 
heard, for the whole company now turned toward Mis¬ 
tress Lucy who had seized her father by the arm and 
forcibly turned him about to face her. 

“Oh, fie. Father!” she cried. “What nonsense is 
this you are talking? Is Myles any less a man and 

166 





"you are no nephew of mine, and naught but a cursed 

ROUNDHEAD.” 










































































HINSDALE HALL 


our good cousin because he sees not the right of this 
quarrel as we do?” 

“Aye, that he is,” sputtered the registrar, “less, 
much less.” 

“Then is Lord Essex or Lord Manchester, that 
fight under the Parliament, unfit to treat with gentle¬ 
men that bear the King’s proposals? Methinks I’ve 
heard you say somewhat far different, and that not 
long since.” 

“Why, Master Dalrymple,” interposed Sir Wil¬ 
liam, “Captain Delaroche is an old friend of my son’s. 
We’ve often heard of him from Arthur and from 
others, and never to his discredit, I assure you. ’Tis 
a thousand pities he’s on the wrong side; but let us 
who serve the King do somewhat to convince those 
who oppose us that we are not knaves and tyrants. 
I welcome Captain Delaroche to Hinsdale; and I 
trust that in so doing I shall not be turning away an 
old friend like yourself.” 

Lucy now took her father by the arm and led him 
determinedly to a far corner of the room. There she 
spoke with him in low but earnest tones for a minute 
or two while Sir William and Mistress Hinsdale and 
Captain Arthur gathered about the prisoner and asked 
him most courteously of his recent fortunes and 
whether any of those who had been slain in the morn¬ 
ing’s skirmish were close friends or relatives. The 
clergyman was introduced as the Reverend Peter 
Lounsdale, rector of a parish in Lincolnshire from 

169 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


which he had been driven by the soldiers of the Par¬ 
liament. Presently James Dalrymple approached 
them, walking with much dignity arm in arm with his 
daughter, and uttered his solemn decision: 

“I will remain and countenance this proceeding on 
one condition only. Master Delaroche has been spoken 
of as a captain of horse, as though, forsooth, he bore 
the King’s commission. Now whatever pretended 
rank he may hold among those rebels and bandits that 
make war on Church and King, he is, as we all know, 
no captain at all, for that he holds no commission 
from our anointed sovereign. I will never recognize 
any rank that is otherwise bestowed, and I ask that all 
of you likewise refrain.” 

Captain Arthur smiled broadly, as he turned to his 
prisoner. “What say you. Master Delaroche? Are 
such conditions endurable?” 

“Quite,” returned Myles with an answering smile. 

“Very well, then,” said Arthur. “You are Master 
Delaroche while you remain at Hinsdale. And now 
that we are on this subject of your status here, 
will you give me your word to make no attempt 
to escape while under our charge? If so, I know 
we need not restrain you, and Fortune favoring us, 
we may pass some comfortable days for old time’s 
sake.” 

“That word I give,” answered Myles gravely. 

“Then come with me where we may come at basins 
and towels, and we will make us outwardly fit to join 

170 


HINSDALE HALL 


the ladies at the breakfast table. ’Tis after nine, and 
I warrant that all of us are famished quite.” 

Soon the whole party was gathered about the ample 
board, and after a brief grace had been said by the 
clergyman, the meal proceeded as though they met in 
perfect amity. James Dalrymple was somewhat stiff 
in his demeanor, and pointedly avoided addressing his 
nephew. Lucy was not so reserved, and she and Ar¬ 
thur would have drawn Myles into gay talk of old 
times in London town had it not been that his replies, 
though never lacking in courtesy, betrayed a some¬ 
what distrait and absent mind. In truth, he could 
not easily forget the struggle of the morning and the 
fate of the men who had made up his little command. 
Such chance encounters were common enough in the 
petty warfare of siege, ambush and onfall which in¬ 
tervened between the greater campaigns, and he could 
not blame himself for the disaster which had ensued. 
But, nevertheless, some stigma attached to an officer 
who saved his own life when those of his followers 
were lost; and it seemed most likely that no member 
of his detachment was left alive to tell the tale of the 
fight in Dugdale Wood. With his mind full of such 
thoughts as these, he ate but little, and was glad when 
the meal was ended. 

Through the remainder of the morning Arthur and 
Sir William were busied with duties connected with 
the garrison. Mistress Hinsdale, with James Dal¬ 
rymple and Lucy, had ridden forth to take the air, and 

171 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


Myles was left, sitting before the fire place with Rec¬ 
tor Lounsdale, discussing at intervals the issues of the 
war as they related to church establishment. Myles 
was ever a good listener, and for years he had been 
not only willing but eager to hear both sides of the 
great questions of the day. Therefore he now en¬ 
couraged the clergyman to expound at length the doc¬ 
trine of the divine commission of the King to act as 
the unquestioned ruler of both Church and State. For 
two or three hours this one-sided debate proceeded, 
the Rector marching up and down as in the pulpit, 
declaiming at the top of his voice and hammering the 
palm of his left hand with his doubled right fist, and 
Myles answering only occasionally and by nods and 
smiles those portions of the discourse which consisted 
of obvious truths which no sensible man would dis¬ 
pute. 

At length the good churchman, hearing so little in 
the way of reply, began to flatter himself on the prog¬ 
ress he was making in bringing to the true belief this 
representative of a deluded and impious band. Just 
then Sir William and the others returned and the ser¬ 
vants came in to arrange the table for the midday 
meal. As the divine was demonstrating with a mul¬ 
titude of texts the unassailable authority for his con¬ 
tention, the room became filled with the other mem¬ 
bers of the household, and Myles was saved from mak¬ 
ing further reply by the call of Mistress Hinsdale for 
their assemblage about the board. 

172 


HINSDALE HALL 


In the afternoon Master Dalrymple retired for the 
daily nap with which for many years nothing short of 
royal commands had been allowed to interfere, and 
Myles passed an hour or more upon the settle in the 
library, seated between Lucy Dalrymple and Arthur 
Hinsdale and exchanging with them tales of varied ex¬ 
perience since they had last met. 

Mistress Hinsdale was at her needlework in a great 
arm chair close by, and often intervened with low¬ 
voiced comment or addition. Arthur had served under 
Prince Rupert almost from the first, and he was firm 
in the belief that no other cavalry officer alive was the 
equal of his commander. 

^‘Had you such a leader,’’ he cried, hotly, ‘‘you 
might have made the war far more difficult for us 
than it has been. As it is, your cause is hopeless, for 
although you lack not men, and good men too, you 
have no general fit to hold the stirrup of our glorious 
Prince. He has never yet been stayed, and, on my 
faith, he never will be.” 

“Nay,” replied Myles, “and just because of that, 
we came right near to destroying your army at Edge- 
hill, and mayhap once or twice since then. It may be 
as much the mark of a general to know when to draw 
bridle as when to loose it.” 

“I know whom you have in mind,” retorted Arthur. 
“You’re thinking of that solemn hypocrite, Noll Crom¬ 
well of Huntingdon. I’ll own he has more pith in 
him than most of your officers, and that a kind of for- 

173 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


tune attends him. But his day will not be long. I 
have heard Prince Rupert himself inquire of him and 
where he is posted. In the next pitched battle, if 
your people can summon an army to offer one in the 
spring, the Prince will see to it that his own command 
is placed well opposite Cromwell’s. Then if your 
doughty brewer stand his ground, as he has made 
his boasts he will, he’s like to leave his bones there 
indeed, for the Prince has so ordered it that he shall 
never leave the field alive.” 

‘Tt may be so,” answered Myles. ‘‘Yet perhaps 
even Prince Rupert cannot order all things to his lik¬ 
ing. And to me Oliver Cromwell seems no hypocrite 
or pretender—but one so aflame with zeal for the 
cause as to have lost all thought of ease or safety 
either for himself or others. I verily believe he would 
hand over his own son to the hangman if he thought 
him guilty of treason to the Parliament. But enough 
of the things on which we shall never agree. Lucy, 
how do you come to be in the West? And, with your 
father absent, who cares for the London house ?” 

Lucy’s face became set and her black eyes flashed 
with angry memories as she replied: 

“Why, ’tis in the hands of those precious friends 
of yours, the Roundheads of the City, if indeed some 
mob has not burned it to the ground ere this. My 
father has been hustled, insulted and robbed by your 
partisans, Myles, till ’tis no wonder he can scarcely 
be civil to a Roundhead under any circumstance. 

174 


HINSDALE HALL 


First his office was taken from him, the vulgar fel¬ 
lows saying there was no more need for such a service 
than of a barber for the Queen’s lap dog. Then came 
the demands for gifts that we must make for the Par¬ 
liament’s cause—not taxes, forsooth, since the Parlia¬ 
ment claimed not the authority to levy them, but gifts 
that we must bestow or have our house burned over 
our heads. Under this compulsion my father gave 
and gave until he saw ’twould ruin him quite. Then 
we got together what remained of gold and jewels and 
took flight in a thick foggy time for Oxford. After 
a week or so of riding about on the wretchedest of 
horses and of bribing your precious sentinels, we some¬ 
how arrived at Oxford. After paying our duty to 
the King, we came here on his suggestion. My father 
is an old man, Myles, and you yourself will own he 
has been hardly used. Think not too hardly of him 
then if he can not be civil to any that wear the Par¬ 
liament’s colors.” 

Myles bowed and muttered a hasty assent. He had 
not cherished resentment against his uncle for more 
than a day or two after their quarrel three years be¬ 
fore, and now, in view of the old Royalist’s misfor¬ 
tunes, he was willing to forgive even the rough recep¬ 
tion of that morning. Lucy clearly had no enmity 
toward him, whatever she might feel for the partisans 
of the Parliament in general. Myles felt that it was 
his place to aid them if he might, remembering his 
uncle’s eager, though mistaken activity in his behalf 

175 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


and his genuine good will through many months, 
rather than the angry tirades in which he indulged 
when the dearest convictions of his life were con¬ 
demned and flouted. But how to say these things, or 
whether for the time they were best left unsaid, Myles 
could not at the moment decide, and he stammered 
and colored violently. 

Arthur, with his usual ready perception and re¬ 
source, acted to dispel an awkward situation by ask¬ 
ing Lucy to play for them on the harpsichord. Mis¬ 
tress Hinsdale added her urgings, and Lucy, perhaps 
not unwilling to display her accomplishment before 
her old-time playmate, was soon seated at the instru¬ 
ment. 

After one or two rather brilliant numbers, in lis¬ 
tening to which Myles found more wonder at the per¬ 
former’s dexterity than delight in the music, Lucy be¬ 
gan to sing, with her own accompaniment, some of 
the Elizabethan poems and ballads which, in a musical 
setting, were just then coming into popular favor. 
She had a sweetly tuned soprano, and, with the stim¬ 
ulus of appreciative listeners, rendered these simple 
and beautiful songs in a way no master could have 
taught her. For an hour the concert went on, and 
one by one Sir William, Rector Lounsdale and Lucy’s 
father joined the group in the library. At last they 
found themselves joining in the refrain of a sweet old 
song of the countryside that all had known from 
childhood; and, at the Rectors’ suggestion, this was 

176 



LUCY CLEARLY HAD NO ENMITY TOWARD HIM, WHATEVER SHE MIGHT 
FEEL FOR THE PARTISANS OF THE PARLIAMENT IN GENERAL. 












































































t 


HINSDALE HALL 


followed by one of those beautiful and stately hymns 
that have come down through the centuries. 

Song followed song, and it seemed as if all hostil¬ 
ities and misunderstandings should melt into the air 
and float away in the mutual refrain. Side by side 
in this happy company, and with heads bent over the 
same music book, stood the two youths who within 
twelve hours had been the leaders of hostile com¬ 
panies, engaged in a bloody and desperate fray. 


CHAPTER XV 


A PURITAN UTOPIA 

T he next day a heavy snow was falling, and 
all of the household at Hinsdale remained 
indoors. Myles was wearing a suit of pur¬ 
ple velvet and brocade which Arthur had loaned him 
to take the place of his own more sober colored gar¬ 
ments which indeed were somewhat rent and worn 
and in several places splashed with blood. Games 
and music and light-hearted talk filled the morning 
hours, and the whole party sat for long over the 
roasted beef and the cakes and venison pies of the 
midday meal. 

Arthur had poured himself a third glass of wine 
and was hospitably pressing his prisoner-guest to fol¬ 
low his example when his mother and Lucy rose and 
withdrew to armchairs near the fire and Sir William 
bade the servants make haste in clearing the table. 
Myles gladly enough omitted his excuses to Arthur, 
and, inferring from the baronet’s serious demeanor 
that he had something of importance to say, took a 
seat beside the clergyman to await his announcement. 
As soon as the dishes were removed and the doors 

i8o 


A PURITAN UTOPIA 


that led toward the rear of the house were closed, 
Sir William began speaking. 

^‘Good friends,’’ he said, in a low voice, though 
with all necessary distinctness, “my son and I have 
something to propose which has some appearance of 
ill discipline—so much so indeed that if we carry 
through our plan and it becomes known at Oxford, 
any there who chance to bear us ill-will might use it 
against us with the King or his advisers. We are 
convinced, however, that in this we are acting in 
honor and not at all to the disservice of our sovereign; 
and of that you yourselves shall be judges. In any 
event, I must ask that all of you keep secret what I 
now say, both to aid in its accomplishment and to 
avoid any misinterpretations in the future.” 

“Sir William,” asked Myles gravely, “is it fitting 
that I who am not of your party should hear these 
plans ?” 

“Indeed it is. Master Delaroche,” responded the bar¬ 
onet, heartily, “for they concern you more directly 
than any one else. It is for your safety we are plan- 
nmg. 

“But I am already a prisoner.” 

“Yes, a prisoner, and if we let things take their 
course, there is no knowing what your fate may be. 
Your rebellion is everywhere breaking down; the King 
and some of his advisers less merciful than himself will 
soon have power of life and death in all parts of Eng¬ 
land. And we have learned that your name is among 

i8i 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


those marked for rigorous prosecution. If we duly 
hand you over to our superiors, we may in fact be 
delivering you to the gallows.’' 

Myles made no reply, and for a moment no one 
spoke. Then Sir William turned and addressed the 
others: 

“In brief, my friends, here is what we propose: 
Master Delaroche is the only survivor of his party: 
our fellows have told us that every one of the others 
was slain either in the fight itself or in the pursuit 
that followed. No doubt it will be thought at Staple¬ 
ton’s camp that their leader perished also. Now we 
have a good and loyal friend in the captain of a cer¬ 
tain ship that plies out of an English port not a hun¬ 
dred miles from here. Three days hence he weighs 
anchor for Virginia; and our plan is that he take as 
passenger a certain youth who, although he has been 
much misled, surely deserves better of us and of Eng¬ 
land herself than the ax or the hangman’s noose.” 

James Dalrymple was first to reply. 

“Why can he not duly make submission?” he que¬ 
ried. “Sir Hugh Cholmley has done so and many 
another. We surely have favor enough among us to 
secure his pardon. Then can he remain securely in 
England.” 

Sir William turned to Myles for a reply. 

“As to that I can give no other answer than that 
I gave yesterday,” said Myles slowly. “I will never 
make submission nor ask pardon of the King.” 

182 


A PURITAN UTOPIA 


Sir William smiled, tlien went on quickly: 

“We had thought your resolution was fixed in that 
respect. And indeed such a course agrees but ill 
with a soldier’s stomach, and it would make it hard 
to meet your comrades in arms in after days. But 
■what we propose is far different. In Virginia they 
have other battles to fight than those concerning Par¬ 
liament and King’s prerogative. There are whole 
empires to conquer and a new people springing up. 
A stout and ready man may easily win a fortune. 
What say you. Master Delaroche? Can we thus 
serve you ?” 

Myles slowly shook his head. “I will never desert 
the Parliament’s cause,” he said, stubbornly, “nor ask 
the pardon of its enemies.” 

“Oh, Myles!” interposed Arthur, impatiently. “Be 
reasonable, cannot you? You have no call to play 
the martyr to a cause that’s already lost. There’s no 
one asks of you that you seek pardon. ’Tis merely 
your word that you’ll not again bear arms against the 
King. Then we find you a good horse and a word or 
two to satisfy the sentinels, and set you on the way. 
Once in America, you are your own master.” 

Myles was silent for a space, and looked at the 
floor between his feet. No one else ventured to speak, 
and the room grew so still that the fall of a half- 
charred billet in the grate seemed like the crash of 
some huge body. At last the young soldier raised 
his head and said: 


183 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


*T cannot give my word not to bear arms against 
the King. I am enlisted in this cause, and will see 
it to the end. You may be right in saying the force 
of the Parliament is already broken, but if so, I will 
be one of those who will still cherish the rightness 
of its cause and make the worst extremes too danger¬ 
ous for any government. I know well you seek to 
serve me, and this at no small risk to yourselves. 
Believe me, I am grateful for it—perhaps more so 
than if I accepted your offers. The fortune of war 
may some day make it possible for me to show this, 
not in words only but in deeds.” 

Sir William sighed deeply and turned away. Lucy 
and Mistress Hinsdale and Arthur took up the argu¬ 
ment by turns, but without at all affecting the pris¬ 
oner’s resolution. Myles could only reiterate his de¬ 
termination: it seemed he could not summon logical 
reasons. At last Sir William again addressed him. 
There was impatience in his tone and in the way he 
paced shortly up and down before Myles’ chair; yet 
his brusque manner and roughened voice did not serve 
altogether to hide a reluctant admiration. 

“Master Delaroche” he said, “of what can such men 
as you be dreaming when you lift the banner of revolt 
against your lawful sovereign?” 

“Of a better order for England,” was the instant 
reply. 

“A better order, forsooth! How can you hope for 

184 


’A PURITAN UTOPIA 


a better order if you break down the King’s authority 
which is the source of all order?” 

^‘The King’s authority proceeds from the people. 
He has been intrusted by them with powers of gov¬ 
ernment—and not for his honor and profit but for 
those of the commonwealth. If he use these powers 
tyrannically or foolishly they may be taken from him 
by those who bestowed them.” 

^‘And what will you do with the King,” demanded 
James Dalrymple, ‘^if by any unheard of fortune of 
arms your ragamuffins should prevail ? Will ye 
make him prisoner and cut off his head?” 

“Make him prisoner, yes,” answered Myles, stead¬ 
ily, “but as for executing him by any means—I hope 
most heartily ’twill not come to that, although I must 
own I have heard some of the wilder sectaries pro¬ 
pose it ’Twould be needless in any event, and might 
in the end raise up for us more enemies than friends.” 

“But you would strike the crown from his head and 
confine him to some castle or prison?” 

“Yes, we could hardly do otherwise. So long as 
he were free to move about and plot and plan with 
royalists here and abroad there’d be no safety for the 
new government.” 

“Of what would this new government consist?” 
asked Sir William. 

“Of a Parliament elected by the votes of every man 
in the country, and of the agents and officers that they 
would appoint.” 


185 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


^‘Every man?” echoed the baronet. ^‘Do you mean 
that every Jack and Harry in the Kingdom should 
have a vote for Parliament members?” 

‘‘Aye, that’s what I mean, indeed, and not only a 
vote but an equal vote.” 

“With Old Bill the Ratcatcher’s vote of the same 
weight as mine?” 

“Of the same weight. Sir William. Old Bill has 
to live under the laws of the land, even as you do, 
and has of right an equal share in selecting those who 
make them.” 

“Now, by the Lord Harry!” exclaimed the baro¬ 
net. “I have never heard the like. Tell me, Dela- 
roche, are such things as these the general will of your 
party ?” 

“That I cannot say,” was the reply. “Or, rather, 
I know that in our party there is a multitude of minds 
and some quite contrary to others in many things. 
Yet I have talked with many, both in the army and 
elsewhere; and I think that something like what I 
have said will prove the general mind. ’Tis a tremen¬ 
dous change. I’ll own, and it may be there’ll be other 
troubles than those with the King and his party before 
’tis settled on.” 

“And what will you do with the Church?” asked 
Rector Lounsdale. “If your party prevails at last 
in the field, what settlement will there be as to that 
institution which is surely not the least of our con¬ 
cerns ?” 

186 


A PURITAN UTOPIA 


Myles did not reply at once, but while he gazed at 
the snowy landscape without, all the others awaited his 
word. At last he said, slowly and with many pauses: 

“Each citizen will be free to choose his own mode 
of worship—to ally himself with any church or with 
no church as seems best to him. Each congregation 
will order its own ceremonial without compulsion 
from without—and the state, instead of interfering, 
will protect them all alike in such liberty.’’ 

“And who will collect the tithes and the other rates 
for the Church’s maintenance?” pursued the Rector. 

“There will be no tithes and no rates for any church 
other than those that men impose on themselves. No 
church whatever will be supported by the State, but 
the State will protect them all alike.” 

“And thus make hedge preachers of us all,” said 
the Rector with rising color and flashing eye. 

“If you like to call it so, sir.” 

“And so you’d authorize all these sectaries—these 
howlers and screamers and rollers—to hold forth 
where’er and howe’er they pleased?” demanded James 
Dalrymple. “ ’Tis arrant foolishness as well as 
treason. Why! know you not that some of them do 
counsel immorality of all sorts—aye and commit the 
foulest crimes—because, forsooth, they’re saints on 
earth—and justified?” 

“He has you there. Master Delaroche,” declared Sir 
William. “The liberty you talk of would in no time 
run to grossest license, and we would have a state 

187 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


of affairs against which such men as yourself would be 
the first to take up arms. ^Twill never do, I tell you.’’ 

“Offenses against civil law and order,” answered 
Myles, “can be punished by the civil courts as well 
then as now. We grant a man liberty of conscience; 
but if he says his religion bids him throw his children 
into the river, and does so, we will hang him for mur¬ 
der—or at the least confine him as a lunatic. Like¬ 
wise, if he make his religion a cloak for robbery or 
any other offense against decent living and the rights 
of his neighbors, we will punish him exactly as any 
other scoundrel.” 

Sir William shook his head violently and began 
again to pace up and down the room. The Rector 
looked gloomily at the fire and the old Registrar glared 
at his nephew as might a judge on the bench at a con¬ 
firmed and defiant criminal. At last the baronet 
paused before Myles and delivered his opinion in the 
tone of one who makes final disposition of a foolish 
and dangerous error. 

“A hundred years ago a man named More wrote 
a crack-brained book that he called Utopia, In it he 
pictured a state wherein all wrongs were righted and 
all men were happy and prosperous.* The only 
trouble with it was that ’twas totally impossible for 
any community of men and women who ever lived or 
ever will live on the earth. Now we hear of the new— 
the Puritan Utopia—wherein every man is a lord and 
every hedge preacher a clergyman. I’m glad to 

188 


A PURITAN UTOPIA 


know at last just what it is they aim at in the Par¬ 
liament camp and to what lengths their folly will 
carry them. And now that I have heard it, by the Lord 
Harry! Pm stronger than ever for Church and 
King. And I predict, Master Delaroche, that if 
your life is spared for ten years longer, you’ll acknowl¬ 
edge that I was right and that your atheist lawyers 
and your howling sectaries were wrong. ’Tis not 
such as they that can administer a state.” 

*‘You are right. Sir William,” said the clergyman 
warmly. 

‘^Aye, who can doubt it?” shouted Dalrymple. 
“The whole rebellion is only an attempt by thieves 
and ’prentices and Gifted Tinkers to grasp that v/hich 
belongs to their betters. And, praise be to God! ’tis 
nearly done for.” 

Myles made no answer but sat gazing at the floor. 
He had not hoped for converts in such a gathering, 
but at first had spoken merely in answer to the ques¬ 
tionings of those who had just proven themselves his 
friends, and later as carried forward on a great flood 
of emotion the sources of which were beyond his 
knowledge. After a minute or two Arthur Hinsdale 
relieved the tension by an inquiry as to the depth of 
the snow without. Soon the conversation on indif¬ 
ferent subjects became general, and Myles, whose 
heart was heavy with the dismal prospects of his party 
and himself, was able to withdraw from the hall with¬ 
out further words. 


189 


CHAPTER XVI 


THE THUNDERBOLT 


N 


EXT morning the party was assembled in the 
hall before the sun had fairly risen. Sir 
William and Arthur were planning a ride to 


a distant outpost where they wished to arrive before 
midday; and Rector Lounsdale was to accompany 
them. When the breakfast was concluded, and while 
they awaited the saddling of the horses, the baronet 
again addressed his prisoner-guest. 

‘Tt is not yet too late. Master Delaroche, to accept 
our counsel of yesterday. With a good mount and 
without misadventure, the journey to the port may be 
made within two days’ time.” 

But Myles again shook his head. 

‘T thank you most heartily, Sir William,” he said, 
^‘but I cannot abandon the cause of the Parliament.” 

^‘Why cannot you see reason?” demanded James 
Dalrymple, roughly. ^'Zounds, sir, do you think it’s 
a pleasure to me and to Lucy here to see a kinsman 
of ours, be he never so misguided, headed straight for 
the hangman’s noose?” 

“I think ’twill hardly come to that,” said Myles 
quietly. ‘T was made prisoner in fair fighting.” 


190 


THE THUNDERBOLT 


‘‘But I tell you it will come to that/^ shouted the 
Registrar, his voice breaking with excitement, his 
plump face turning to a beetlike redness and his hands 
rapidly opening and closing. “Did’st not hear Sir 
William yesterday? Your name is on the list as one 
of those attainted. The breakdown of your raga¬ 
muffin army cannot be many months away; and, fol¬ 
lowing that, the laws will be duly executed upon all 
such.’’ 

“Even so,” returned Myles, “I must await my for¬ 
tune.” 

“Think again, Myles,” urged Arthur. “ ’Tis not 
likely that Essex can ever again take the field. We 
have new supplies of men and arms, and your armies 
everywhere break down. They will hardly last till 
spring.” 

“The Parliament has no commanders,” said Sir 
William. “Always they fritter away such chances 
as come their way in hesitation and dispute among 
themselves. Such leaders-” 

At that instant came a mighty crash as of a light¬ 
house tower struck by a thunderbolt. Fragments of 
masonry hurtled across the room and larger masses 
fell inward upon the floor from a portion of the outer 
wall near the ceiling where now a gaping hole gave 
a view of bare tree branches and the blue sky beyond. 

The worhen screamed with fright, and James Dal- 
rymple’s ruddy countenance turned in an instant to 
the color of clay. 

191 



THE TORCH BEARERS 

‘‘Cannon!’’ shouted Sir William. “We are at¬ 
tacked !” 

With Arthur and Myles at his side, he rushed to 
the broad window and gazed in the direction whence 
the shot must have come. Half a mile away, where 
a winding road surmounted a wooded hilltop, they 
dimly descried tlie forms of men who ran about some 
object half concealed by the undergrowth. Then a 
puff of smoke issued from a hidden throat of iron, 
and another hideous crash told of the fall of the chim¬ 
ney over the south wing of the manor house. Sol¬ 
diers, with arms and without, came rushing into the 
room, demanding orders; and Sir William gave hur¬ 
ried commands for manning all defences and for re¬ 
plying to the cannon fire from the culverins already 
mounted on the second floor. 

Then came a burst of musketry from the hillside 
just beyond the village and from a sunken road that 
flanked the manor on the other side. A hail of bul¬ 
lets spattered against the walls and in a dozen places 
pierced the windows. 

“Lie down on the floor!” shouted Myles to Mis¬ 
tress Hinsdale and Lucy who were clinging to one 
another near the center of the room. The trembling 
women obeyed at once, and James Dalrymple quickly 
followed their example. Myles glanced once more 
through the shattered window, and saw the soldiers 
of the Parliament swarming through Hinsdale vil¬ 
lage. They were taking advantage of the cover of 

192 


THE THUNDERBOLT 


houses and walls, and firing and reloading as they 
advanced. One yelling group had surrounded the inn 
and was breaking down the doors. 

By this time the room was filled with the royalist 
troopers, armed with swords and muskets. Shelter¬ 
ing themselves behind the window ledges, they were 
already exchanging fire with the attackers. The cul- 
verin roared overhead and shook the house like an¬ 
other stroke from the hostile guns. Sir William 
was running from place to place, exhorting and direct¬ 
ing his men and pointing out to them where bodies 
of the enemy were exposed to their fire. Coming to 
the young Puritan captain, he seized his arm, with a 
half frantic clutch. 

“Myles,’’ he shouted, beseechingly, “wilt thou not 
take Mistress Hinsdale and Lucy to the cellars and re¬ 
main with them till we know the outcome of this? 
There will be some measure of safety there—at least 
from musketry.” 

“Aye, sir,” answered Myles at once. “ ’Tis well 
bethought.” 

Stooping over his wife where she and Lucy lay in 
the middle of the floor, the baronet quickly explained 
this move for their safety, and Myles urged them to 
go at once and on hands and knees to the kitchen 
door and the cellar stair. Bullets now whizzed 
through the room continually and buried themselves 
in the walls. Two or three of the soldiers had been 
hit, and one lay dead on the floor. James Dalrymple 

193 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


joined the humble procession toward the cellarway; 
but Rector Lounsdale rejected all urging to do like¬ 
wise. With the air of a prophet, strengthening the 
hearts of a chosen people against the invasion of the 
heathen, he was marching up and down the hall with 
an open Bible in his hand. Wildly gesticulating the 
while, he declaimed to the soldiers tremendous pas¬ 
sages as to the certain triumph of a righteous cause 
and fierce denunciations of their enemies as despoilers 
of the Temple. Myles could not but feel a measure 
of admiration for such whole-heartedness, mistaken 
though he deemed it, and, if he might, would gladly 
have prevailed on the Rector to take shelter. But the 
old clergyman would hear nothing from him; and his 
first duty at the moment was elsewhere. So the 
young Puritan turned away and followed the other 
noncombatants down the stairs to the half darkness of 
the basement. 

Mistress Hinsdale and Lucy were crouching in the 
wine cellar, the deepest of the vaults. Its flagging 
was four or five yards beneath the main floor and sur¬ 
rounded by walls of hewn stone that made their re¬ 
treat seem utterly secure. James Dalrymple was 
standing before them—his natural color and confi¬ 
dence returned—telling them over and over that there 
was no need for them to be frightened—that the 
rebels would soon be routed, or, at the least, com¬ 
pelled to give over the attack, by the stout resistance 
the King^s forces were making. 

194 


THE THUNDERBOLT 


‘‘Hark to them!’' he declaimed as the musketry 
quickened overhead. “Gallant boys that they are! 
Will they give over a stout fortress like this to those 
scurvy ragamuffins? Moreover, Prince Rupert may 
be here anon, and chase this rabble back to their holes 
—those that are left alive. He’ll -” 

Another crash like that which had first announced 
the attack drowned out the old royalist’s words. For 
ten seconds afterward a series of thunderous blows 
on the floor directly overhead announced the fall of 
masonry that had been loosened by the cannon ball. 
The women screamed again, and Myles watched keenly 
for any sign of yielding from the floor planks. But 
these were of seasoned oak, and although they roared 
with the impact of the stones, they yet held firm, and 
only showered dust upon the occupants of the vault. 

The musketry firing was now continuous, and cov¬ 
ered all the other sounds of battle save an occasional 
deep boom from the culverins. No bullets and not 
even cannon shot could penetrate to the vault; and it 
seemed to Myles that if the floor overhead did not 
give way, the siege might go on for hours with no 
harm to those who had so strangely been placed under 
his care. Meanwhile his mind was filled with other 
plans for their safety. As his eyes became more ac¬ 
customed to the murk, he espied a place where the 
stone wall jutted out over the floor, leaving a cave¬ 
like space beneath in which some casks of wine had 
been stored. Rolling these aside, he placed in their 

195 



THE TORCH BEARERS 


room some low, rough stools which had been left in 
the vault, and induced Mistress Hinsdale and Lucy to 
seat themselves upon them. 

He knew that his uncle was right in one respect: 
this post was too far within the royalist lines to per¬ 
mit the Parliament forces to remain in its vicinity for 
any long period. Either they must quickly prevail 
or give over the attack and make retreat before they 
were themselves overwhelmed. Such an assault, even 
with cannon, seemed not likely to result in complete 
destruction of their refuge. 

Then, like a knife stab, came the thought of fire. 
What if the manor house caught fire during the bom¬ 
bardment like many others he had seen where red hot 
cannon balls or the scattered brands from the hearth 
set the woodwork aflame? If this came to pass, 
would they not be penned in and suffocated before 
any aid could reach them? For a moment his mind 
dealt swiftly with the problem thus presented. Then, 
in a voice made steady by a tremendous effort of will, 
he asked of Mistress Hinsdale: 

‘‘Is there any door, Madame, that leads directly 
from the cellars to the outer air?’' 

“No,” answered the lady, wonderingly, “there is 
none such on this side of the house; and between here 
and the other cellars, whence a door opens on the 
lower court, there is a wall of brick.” 

“But windows there must be.” 

“Aye, one or two in the outer cellar next to this.” 

196 


THE THUNDERBOLT 


“I think ril go and look at them/^ said Myles 
slowly. “If the firing continues, we may have need to 
open one for air.’^ 

“But that we cannot do,” cried Mistress Hinsdale, 
“for all the windows of the cellar are fitted with stout 
iron gratings to guard against thieves.” 

“Aye, Madame, so I supposed. But I will see what 
can be done nevertheless.” 

Quickly he left the vault and took himself to the 
outer cellar. There his eyes soon confirmed Mis¬ 
tress Hinsdale’s words, for the two narrow windows, 
just beneath the sills, were eight or nine feet from the 
floor and covered with strong iron bars that seem¬ 
ingly made escape impossible. A moment’s search, 
however, revealed a stout plank some ten feet long 
which lay in a corner behind some empty casks. Us¬ 
ing this as a battering ram, the young captain quickly 
broke one of the bars. Then, employing the plank 
as a lever, with the window frame as a fulcrum, he 
wrenched the others from their fastenings. He was 
about to break out the sash, but reflected just in time 
that this could be done very quickly at need, and that 
it might be better to delay. That which was most 
needful as a means of escape was something to take 
the place of a ladder, to enable Mistress Hinsdale and 
the others to reach the window. This too was quickly 
secured. Rolling the largest of the empty casks to a 
place under the window, he set it on end, then placed 
upright upon it another of half its capacity. The top 

197 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


of the smaller barrel came within two feet of the win¬ 
dow ledge; and the two made approach to it no diffi¬ 
cult task. This he proved by climbing up at once and 
peering through a broken pane. 

What he saw made his heart leap as it had on that 
terrible day at Edgehill when it seemed that the whole 
royal army bore down upon them. A triple line of 
carbineers and swordsmen advanced at a run across 
the fields from the direction of the village, and were 
already within forty rods of the manor house. Myles 
knew them at once for dismounted cavalry and dra¬ 
goons, fighting here on foot because of the nature of 
the ground and of the position they attacked. Their 
leader, a stout, broad-shouldered man of middle age, 
ran five or six yards in advance of the frontmost line, 
brandishing a saber, shouting like a madman and leap¬ 
ing with surprising lightness over the ditches and low 
hedges that beset the way. 

Over Myles' head crashed volleys of musketry. 
Scores of men in the attacking line fell on their faces 
in the grass, rolled into the ditch water or hung over 
the hedges with arms and legs asprawl like scarecrows 
flung aside at harvest time. But gaps in the lines 
were quickly closed, and the Puritans came on with 
a rush and with a shouted hallelujah that for an in¬ 
stant made itself heard above all the din of arms. 

Myles leaped to the floor and hastened to the inner 
vault. There Mistress Hinsdale and Lucy were still 
seated on the rough stools he had found for them, and 

198 


THE THUNDERBOLT 


James Dalrymple was still declaiming of the folly and 
weakness of their enemies. 

At that moment the din overhead was redoubled. 
Shouts and oaths mingled with the clash of steel 
and scattered musket shots; and Myles knew that 

4 

the attackers had penetrated the manor house. The 
floors again resounded with the rush of trampling 
feet and with the fall of heavy bodies. The mus¬ 
ketry fire died down and disappeared, but steel rang 
on steel continuously, and gun butts and axes were 
furiously plied against oaken doors. Terrific roar¬ 
ing sounds, as of earthquake or avalanche, told of 
blocks of stone that had been loosened from the up¬ 
per walls by cannon fire and that were now hurled 
down the stairways from the landings on the second 
floor on the heads of invaders who sought to mount 
from below. 

For several minutes the horrible din seemed stead¬ 
ily to increase. Mistress Hinsdale covered her ears 
with her hands and tightly closed her eyes. Lucy 
buried her face in the older woman’s lap, and Mas¬ 
ter Dalrymple sank to the floor beside them. Then 
little by little the sounds of battle grew fainter and 
seemed to proceed from more distant portions of 
the house. Finally they ceased altogether save for 
occasional footfalls and shouted commands. Then 
came the clear notes of a bugle in the call of assembly. 

Myles pushed open the door of the vault with the 
intention of mounting to the hall. But at that in- 

199 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


stant the door at the head of the stairway was vio¬ 
lently flung open and half a dozen soldiers rushed 
down the steps. The faces of some were bloody 
with recent wounds. Some had their arms half filled 
with articles of silver and gold they had rifled from 
the rooms of the manor house. And one bore a flam¬ 
ing torch and a water bucket that had been caught 
up in the kitchen. 

“Wine!’’ he shouted hoarsely. “Wine!” 

“Here!” called another. “Here is the vault. 
Here’s wine and brandy both, I warrant.” 

Myles had stepped back and closed the door; but 
now it was forced open again and ugly faces were 
thrust through the opening. One huge fellow, peering 
about among the wine casks, made out the figures of 
the women in the shadow. 

“Ha!” he gloated, “here’s wine indeed, and here’s 
other prizes of our victory.” 

But his further speech was interrupted by Myles 
Delaroche who had placed himself between the wo¬ 
men and their threateners. 

“Men,” he said, sternly, “I am Captain Delaroche 
of Stapleton’s Horse in the army of the Parliament. 
Turn about and leave this place at once. Did you 
not hear the bugle?” 

For an instant the soldiers hesitated. Then the 
tall ruffian who had first espied the women answered 
jeeringly: 

“Ah-h-h! a likely tale this from one of your seem- 


200 


THE THUNDERBOLT 


ing! Where is your uniform? And what do you 
here if you’re of the Parliament?” 

‘T have been a prisoner here,” was the reply. 
‘‘And will now report to your leader. Now turn 
about, and quickly, lest I inform your captain of your 
whereabouts.” 

A loud and reckless laugh greeted this command; 
and Myles saw with dismay that the men before him 
were already half intoxicated. No doubt these were 
the ones he had seen an hour before, assaulting the 
doors of the inn. With a hideous leer on his face, 
the leader advanced toward Lucy, trailing his car¬ 
bine along the floor as he went. Myles endeavored 
to spring before him; but a rush of three or four of 
the others pushed him to one side. James Dalrymple 
thrust himself before his daughter and menaced the 
soldier with double fists. But this brave defense, 
like that of Chanticleer facing the fox, proved of 
little avail. With a laugh of glee, the ruffian swung 
up his carbine from the floor, and thrust the butt 
straight at the old man’s face. The poor Registrar 
received the full force of the blow from the iron-shod 
stock, and instantly fell down like an ox in the butch¬ 
er’s shambles. 

But Myles Delaroche was yet to be reckoned with. 
When the troopers had thrust him aside he had 
stooped to the floor and seized one of the oaken 
stools. Whirling this through the air, he brought it 
down on the head of the nearest of the assailants, 


201 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


felling him instantly. Then without a second’s loss 
of time he attacked tlie leader who had already seized 
Lucy’s wrist. The first blow was warded by an up¬ 
lifted arm; but the second, swiftly following from 
another direction, fell full on the ruffian’s skull, so 
that his knees crumpled under him and he fell, face 
downwards. 

Some of the soldiers, fearing a like fate for them¬ 
selves, attempted to rush out through the door; but 
three of the others recklessly attacked the young 
captain with swords and musket butts. Myles was 
whirling the stool around his head in dizzying circles, 
crouching and dodging the while to avoid the blows 
of his antagonists. Another moment would cer¬ 
tainly have seen more deadly work, when a deep 
voice was heard from the doorway in shouted com¬ 
mand : 

“Hold! What have we here? Hold, sir. You 
are a prisoner.” 

The soldiers lowered their weapons, and Myles 
let the stool fall to the floor. 

“Cromwell!” he exclaimed. 

“Aye, Cromwell,” was the grim response. “I never 
yet have had occasion to deny it. But who are you, 
pray, that thus prolongs defense of a post already 
taken? And who are these women?” 

“I am Captain Delaroche of Stapleton’s Horse,” 
was the reply. “And these ladies are the wife of Sir 
William Hinsdale and Mistress Lucy Dalrymple.” 

202 



THEN WITHOUT A SECOND^S LOSS OF TIME HE ATTACKED THE LEADER 
WHO HAD ALREADY SEIZED LUCY's WRIST. 
















THE THUNDERBOLT 


Stapleton’s Horse?” demanded Cromwell. 
‘‘Then you are traitor to the cause of Parliament.” 

“No, sir,” answered Myles, steadily. “I was a 
prisoner here, having been taken two days ago, af¬ 
ter the destruction in Dugdale Wood of a detach¬ 
ment of which I had command.” 

“Ah! Something of that I have heard,” said 
Cromwell with lowering countenance. “A most well 
planned destruction. I’ll be bound—one that will well 
bear looking into. So now you fight for the Malig- 
nants, as once for the Parliament’s cause. Well, sir, 
I can give most earnest tlianks for having taken you. 
There have been several of your sort of late that 
have bargained their eternal welfare for gold and 
honors, and that now shelter themselves under the 
banner of him they call the king at Oxford. An ex¬ 
ample will be most mightily wholesome.” 

“Colonel Cromwell,” returned Myles, “I am no 
traitor. I was a prisoner here, and as such was sent 
to the cellars with these noncombatants. These men 
here, who disgrace the cause of the Parliament with 
their drunkenness and robbery, would have borne 
away the ladies had I not interfered. They would 
not believe I was a Parliament officer, so it came to 
blows, as you saw. Would you, as an English gentle¬ 
man, have acted differently?” 

Cromwell gazed piercingly at the young captain, 
then slowly shook his head. “A well told tale,” he 
muttered, “but ’twill little serve with me, for many 

205 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


times before I’ve heard smooth tongues glozing over 
the deeds of treason and malignancy.” Turning to 
the soldiers, he ordered: 

‘‘Get ropes and bind his arms securely behind his 
back. Then bring all these people—or all such as are 
still alive to the hall. There we will deal with them.” 

Some of the troopers hastened to do his bidding; 
a rope was quickly found and Myles’ wrists fastened 
together behind him. James Dalrymple, who was 
now stirring and moaning, was borne up the stairs. 
The soldier who had been first to fall before Myles’ 
attack had sufficiently recovered to be able to sit 
erect; but he who had acted as ringleader had re¬ 
ceived the full force of a wide-swung blow and would 
never stir again. 

Mistress Hinsdale and Lucy were marched up the 
stairs ahead of Myles, and he was closely followed 
by the Puritan commander. In the hall above, the 
first persons whom they saw were Sir William and 
Arthur Hinsdale, botli of whom had been slightly 
wounded in the fighting, and now stood with a dozen 
other prisoners with their arms tightly bound. Dead 
and wounded men of both parties lay all about; and 
the house, with all its costly furnishing, was a scene 
of chaos and ruin. In a pool of blood in the middle 
of the floor, lay the body of the white-haired old 
Rector, with a bullet hole through the forehead. 


CHAPTER XVII 


THE PRISONERS 



O! What’s this?” called Sir William to 
the Puritan commander when the proces¬ 
sion halted in the hall. ‘‘You have made 
prisoner one of your own men.” 

“Aye,” growled Cromwell. “Our man he was 
till the Devil tempted him. But were it not for the 
loss of the example on others who might be meditat¬ 
ing a similar treason, I’d have him hanged forth¬ 
with from a limb of these oaks here rather than bur¬ 
den one of my horses with him. As it is, he journeys 
with me, and thus may live another day.” 

“What mean you by that?” demanded the baronet. 
“Captain Delaroche is as staunch a Parliament man 
as any of you; and to that I can well bear witness.” 

“Oh, aye!” was the grim response. “You can 
doubtless bear witness to anything whatever that you 
fancy will help the cause of Charles Stuart. We 
have heard enough and more than enough of such 
testimony.” 

Sir William’s eyes flashed, and he would have 
made an angry reply, but his son sprang before him, 

207 




THE TORCH BEARERS 


and, with his face contorted with rage, confronted 
the Puritan officer. 

“You scurvy son of a brewer!” he shouted. “You 
know no more of honor than does one of your own 
malting tubs, else you would never cast a mortal in¬ 
sult in the face of a man whose hands are bound be¬ 
hind his back. I tell you the Hinsdales speak the 
truth of their enemies as of their friends. And I 
say that Captain Delaroche is a truer servant of the 
Parliament than you have ever been.” 

Cromwell spat contemptuously on the floor and ex¬ 
pelled his breath between loosely held lips as though 
he would blow away such useless vaporings. 

“All this comes to nothing,” he growled. “And 
you, young sir, as a prisoner duly taken, are safe 
from the chastisement that would certainly overtake 
you otherwise.” 

Then, turning to some of his officers, he went on 
rapidly: 

“See that all the wounded of both parties are taken 
from the house and borne to the village where they 
may be cared for. Assemble the companies at once 
on that rise of ground yonder and bring all the pris¬ 
oners there, securely bound. Look especially to this 
fellow, Delaroche. Should he escape, I will instantly 
hang whoever had him in charge. Now look to it.” 

Turning on his heel, he strode through the hall 
and out through the ruined doorway. A moment 
later a bugle sounded from the knoll a hundred paces 

208 


THE PRISONERS 


distant, and all the officers and men not detailed for 
special duties hurried thither. Soon the companies 
were reformed and stood in two solid squares, facing 
the half ruined manor. The prisoners were drawn 
up at one side, under the guard of a sergeant and a 
dozen or more of the troopers. Ten minutes later 
an officer reported to Colonel Cromwell that all tlie 
wounded had been removed. 

^‘You are sure that no living person remains?’’ 
questioned his superior, sharply. 

“Aye, sir. We have made most careful search.” 

“Then make ready your bombs. Put one under 
that tower at the farther end and another here by 
the main doorway.” 

The captain saluted and turned away. In a mo¬ 
ment his men were busily engaged at the points in¬ 
dicated, cases of powder were carried forward and 
the mines duly laid. Then, while Mistress Hinsdale 
and Lucy buried their faces in their arms, and the 
other prisoners watched with staring eyes, two sol¬ 
diers ran forward with torches to the ends of powder 
trains which had been laid from the bombs to points 
fifty paces from the building. There was a hiss and 
a flash, and two fiery serpents leaped forward toward 
the manor house. Then came two thunderous reports 
in quick succession. The tower leaped upward and 
the front wall of the house split and fell apart as 
though an earthquake heaved its base. There was 
a fearful crash of falling stone, and for a moment 

209 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


the scene was hidden in a cloud of smoke and dust. 
Then this was swept aside by a puff of wind, and the 
watchers on the knoll beheld a shapeless mass of 
stone and brick and timber which was all that re¬ 
mained of Hinsdale Hall. 

Cromwell turned sharply about, and addressed his 
second in command. 

‘‘Assemble the horses,” he rasped, “and be pre¬ 
pared to ride at once. Send word to our cannoneers 
also. Find horses for the prisoners. They will ride 
directly under our observation. As for these women, 
we will not detain them. They will doubtless find 
occupation in nursing the wounded.” 

Mistress Hinsdale and Lucy, with tears streaming 
down their faces, moved toward the prisoners and 
spent with them such time as was allowed in tender 
farewells and in mutual promises of letters or mes¬ 
sages at the first opportunity. All too soon the troop¬ 
ers were in readiness for the road; the prisoners were 
bidden to mount the horses provided for them, and 
the women were ordered away. At a walk, ‘the col¬ 
umn proceeded up the road toward the wooded hill¬ 
top. There it was joined by the cannoneers who, 
with each of their lumbering weapons drawn by four 
stout horses, now took up a place in the middle of 
the line. Half an hour after the destruction of the 
manor house, the neighborhood was as quiet as 
though the war had never approached within a day’s 
journey. 


210 


THE PRISONERS 


Mistress Hinsdale and Lucy Dalrymple hurried to 
the village to see what provision had been made for 
the wounded. James Dalrymple had been borne to 
the miller’s cottage, and there they found him sitting 
on a couch in an inner room, alternately bathing 
his bruised face and head with a lotion of vinegar 
which the housewife had provided and loudly cursing 
the Roundheads. Concluding from the vigor of his 
language that the old Registrar’s life was in no pres¬ 
ent danger, his daughter and Mistress Hinsdale, af¬ 
ter a few minutes at his bedside, went on to the other 
cottages where the injured soldiers were lying. 

There were a score or more of these, with hurts 
varying from severe flesh wounds to sword or bullet 
strokes through the throat or body that would soon 
prove mortal. The poor fellows were being at¬ 
tended by the village doctor and by a number of the 
housewives of the neighborhood who were giving 
their best efforts to the nursing of friends and foes 
alike. Mistress Hinsdale gave orders that every¬ 
thing needful should be supplied, and despatched a 
messenger to the nearest town for certain medicines 
of which the doctor had not a sufficient quantity. This 
done, it was apparent that they could be of little fur¬ 
ther assistance. 

Since the column had disappeared over the hill, 
Lucy had moved about, white-faced and with the 
air of one in a dream. Now she drew the elder lady 
aside and whispered eagerly: 


2II 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


“Mistress Hinsdale, the people here, and even my 
father, can do without our aid; but those who are 
the prisoners of that terrible Roundhead cannot. At 
this moment they are in deadly peril/^ 

“I know,’' answered Mistress Hinsdale, distract¬ 
edly, “but what can we do?” 

“We can go to that Roundhead leader and tell him 
the truth.” 

“Oh! of what avail would that be ? He would not 
listen to Sir William. Is it likely that he will listen 
to us?” 

“It may be that he will. We can tell the whole tale 
of the fight in the wine cellar, and show that Myles 
did only what any English gentleman should do— 
even as he said himself. The Roundheads are not 
wolves and bears. It must be they will hear reason.” 

“But how can we come to them?” 

“Can we not procure horses and ride after them? 
Even yet we might overtake them ere nightfall. And 
they have a camp at Stafford, I have heard.” 

“We will do so!” cried Mistress Hinsdale, her face 
lighting with the resolution that already shone from 
her companion's countenance. “Old Squire Albree 
has horses he will lend us, though he is himself past 
riding. We will borrow cloaks and bonnets from 
the miller’s wife. And we can take two or three 
stout fellows from the village here to act as guards.” 

“But Mistress Hinsdale,” said Lucy, anxiously, “do 
you not fear that such guards will be worse than 


212 


THE PRISONERS 


none? Would they not be more likely to draw at¬ 
tack from the Roundheads than to protect us from 
danger ?” 

“You are right, Lucy. Yours is an old head on 
young shoulders, Fll be bound. Our fellows would 
either be shot down by any Roundheads whom we 
met, or, at the least, be seized and pressed into their 
companies. ’Twill be safer indeed without them. 
We’ll ride by ourselves.” 

A village urchin was found to run to the farmhouse 
of old Squire Albree with a note from Mistress Hins¬ 
dale. Poor James Dalrymple was acquainted with 
their design and his complaints and objections over¬ 
come. Lucy quickly recounted to him the events in 
the wine cellar after he had received the stunning 
blow from the musket butt, and dwelt on Myles’ im¬ 
minent peril at the hands of the Roundhead colonel. 
At length the old Registrar, whose mental processes 
were still far from clear, gave a confused and grudg¬ 
ing consent. When half an hour had passed, the lad 
returned from Squire Albree’s, riding one of a pair 
of old plow horses and leading the other. Then, with¬ 
out further loss of time, the ladies mounted and rode 
away at a canter in the wake of the Puritan soldiery. 

For two or three hours they drove forward at the 
best pace that could be secured from their heavy and 
lumbering steeds. Then they caught sight of the rear 
guard, a mile or so before them. By this time they 
had agreed that it would not be best to attempt their 

213 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


intercession with the Puritan commander while his 
troops were still on the march, so for the rest of the 
day they followed the column at a foot pace, taking 
care to keep out of sight of scouts and stragglers. It 
was after dark when the detachment rode into camp 
at Stafford; and soon after the two ladies confronted 
the sentinels and demanded audience of Colonel 
Cromwell. 

Cromwell received them in the kitchen of the mag¬ 
istrate’s house which he had made his headquarters. 
A sentry was on guard at the door; and the colonel, 
who was otherwise alone, was busily writing at a 
table. His clothes were still splashed with mud from 
his riding, his long, coarse hair was in disorder and 
a stubble of gray beard further roughened his stern 
and forbidding countenance. His steeple-crowned 
hat, with its buckle of rusted steel, was on the floor 
beside him, and the heavy sword which he had swung 
at Hinsdale lay across one end of the table. As 
soon as he recognized his visitors, he frowned heav¬ 
ily, and, rising from his chair, demanded roughly: 

‘‘How comes this, madame? Are all those who 
were wounded at Hinsdale so soon mended?” 

“The wounded men are being cared for, sir, as 
well as may be,” answered Mistress Hinsdale in spir¬ 
ited tones, “but we have ridden after you in order 
that you may hear the truth in regard to one whom 
you hold prisoner and whom we fear is in danger of 
death.” 


214 


THE PRISONERS 


“Your husband, madame, is a prisoner of war; 
and so is the younger man, who I understand is your 
son. They will be safely held as such and are in no 
danger of execution.’’ 

“Aye, of so much I am right glad to be assured. 
But you have another prisoner whom you have been 
pleased to call a traitor, and have threatened with 
hanging. This young lady and I, who know the 
truth of the matter, have come to tell you he is none 
such. We have indeed the best of reasons for know¬ 
ing he is entirely loyal to your side in the war.” 

Cromwell’s frown grew deeper, and he stared men¬ 
acingly at the trembling lady for what seemed an 
endless time before making reply: 

“And I, madame, have the best of reasons for 
knowing he is false as the fiends of Hell. Now of 
what use is it for you to come to me with a tale that 
is calculated to save from the gallows one whom your 
partisans—perhaps your husband and son them¬ 
selves—have seduced from his bounden duty? I find 
Captain Delaroche fighting with all his strength in 
the defense of Hinsdale Hall against my attack. He 
wounded one of my men and killed another outright. 
I find him with no trace of uniform or other mark 
of his rank in the Parliament’s army, but wearing the 
vain and costly raiment of those who style them¬ 
selves Cavaliers. But, forsooth, he claims he is no 
traitor but a prisoner in the house, and that all along 
he has been loyal to the Parliament.” 

215 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


^‘Colonel Cromwell/^ said Mistress Hinsdale, 
firmly, ‘‘Captain Delaroche, only yesterday, was of¬ 
fered safe-conduct out of England if he would 
abandon the Parliament’s quarrel; and this he re¬ 
fused.” 

“Aye,” interposed Lucy, “and once again this very 
morning.” 

“And who are you, Mistress Malapert?” demanded 
Cromwell. “Are you not the daughter of that James 
Dalrymple who has been in the thick of every royal¬ 
ist plot hatched by the traitors and malignants of 
London since the flight of the King?” 

“My father is loyal to his sovereign,” answered 
Lucy, hotly. “And he has suffered for it It is none 
the less true that some of your half drunken troop¬ 
ers sought to lay violent hands on Mistress Hins¬ 
dale and myself, and that ’twas this that caused Cap¬ 
tain Delaroche to oppose them with whatever weapon 
came to hand. Will you send him to the gallows for 
that?” 

Cromwell turned a lowering face toward Mistress 
Hinsdale. “To-morrow morning,” he said, slowly, 
“a court-martial will be convened in this room at 
nine o’clock, to try the case of Captain Delaroche, 
charged with desertion and treason. If the officers 
who make up that court do their duty—as I have 
no doubt they will—Captain Delaroche will be found 
guilty by the half hour past; and at ten o’clock he 
will be hanged.” 


216 


THE PRISONERS 


“Oh, brutal!’’ cried Mistress Hinsdale. 

“You claim to fight for justice,” said Lucy, her 
voice half choked with sobs, “and you hang innocent 
men in this wise. Think you that England will long 
endure such justice as that?” 

The Puritan leader seated himself and took up 
his pen. “Ladies,” he replied, grimly, “I have said 
my word on this matter. And now I have other 
things to do. Please you, take yourselves from this 
encampment as quickly as you may. You have not 
yet been restrained, but that too may be necessary if 
you trouble us further.” 

Thus repulsed, the weeping women moved toward 
the open door, and quickly found themselves in the 
darkness without. Half blinded by their tears, they 
stumbled through the streets to the place on the out¬ 
skirts of the village where their horses had been left 
when they were first challenged by the sentry. Soon 
they had remounted and were riding toward the west, 
along the wintry road by which they had come. 


CHAPTER XVIII 


KENMOOR WOOD 

F or a mile or two after leaving the village, 
the two women rode in silence. The night 
was dark, with no hint of a moon; faint 
stars half pierced the drifting cloud, and a gusty wind 
sighed through the branches of the wayside trees. 
The dimly seen track underfoot was a mixture of 
mud and snow through which their horses labored 
painfully. Thick and high on either side, stood 
old neglected hedgerows, and the gray hillsides be¬ 
yond seemed utterly deserted and forlorn. 

Mistress Hinsdale, in the lead, rode with her head 
bent low in scrutiny of the road. Lucy had thrown 
her bridle rein on the pommel of her saddle, leaving 
her horse to follow his comrade on the homeward 
way, and now crouched forward with eyes half closed 
and her hands folded across her breast like a hope¬ 
less prisoner on the way to an unknown destination. 
The night was chill, with the knifelike sharpness of 
approaching frost; and the girl was but lightly clad. 
She was faint with weariness and with the heartsick¬ 
ness that came from the utter failure of her plan 

218 


KENMOOR WOOD 


for Myles' rescue and the miserable certainty of his 
fate. 

Over and over she seemed to hear the grim sen¬ 
tence of the Puritan colonel—to-morrow morning at 
nine o’clock—at nine o’clock—at nine o’clock; and, 
as her horse plodded steadily onward, these ominous 
words formed themselves in her half-numbed brain 
into a refrain like that of a senseless jingle or the 
words one’s imagination will attach to the rhythmic 
thud and creaking of a mill or wagon wheel. In tliis 
dull and hopeless mood she had lost all interest in 
her surroundings. The happenings of the near or 
distant future, save for this one impending disaster, 
seemed of little consequence; and she neither knew 
nor cared to know whether her companion intended 
to ride the whole distance to Hinsdale under the cover 
of darkness or would seek food and shelter at some 
inn or farmhouse on the way. 

Suddenly she sat erect and firmly seized her bridle 
reins. “Mistress Hinsdale!” she called, in a low, half- 
choked voice that yet seemed loud on the deserted 
high road, “wait for a moment, I pray you.” 

The elder lady turned in surprise and alarm, and 
quickly brought her mount to a stop. Lucy mean¬ 
while had come forward to her side. Now she whis¬ 
pered, excitedly: 

“Is there not a left-hand turning, to which we shall 
come soon, that leads from this road to Wicksbury 
where the Earl of Manchester is encamped?” 

219 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


‘^Aye, I think so” answered Mistress Hinsdale, 
wonderingly, “but our road lies straight through Ben- 
ham Wood and Latham/’ 

“How far, think you, would it be to Wicksbury?” 

“Why, ’tis twelve leagues and more—a good day’s 
ride. What are you thinking on?” 

“Mistress Hinsdale,” said Lucy, her voice still 
low, but level and determined, must ride to 

Wickshury this night. I have bethought me how we 
will yet save Myles Delaroche—he who risked both 
life and honor to safe us from those ruffians.” 

“What can we do at Wicksbury?” 

“Listen. This Colonel Cromwell who just now 
drove us from his presence, is not the general of the 
Parliament army, though we have heard so much of 
him of late we may have come to think so. Lord 
Manchester is his superior. You know Sir William 
told to us three days ago that Manchester is the gen¬ 
eral of all the Puritan forces in the Midlands. Now 
let us ride and tell our tale to him. He is one that 
can judge whether or no we speak the truth.” 

“ ’Tis so,” murmured Mistress Hinsdale, “I once 
met Manchester. Twenty years ago it was; and he 
will have forgotten me. But he is a gentleman, I 
know, and possibly may listen.” 

“Surely he must listen. We will make him do so.” 

“But how can we journey so far and on such a 
night? ’Tis twelve leagues and more. There may 
be robbers—in these wild days the roads are dan- 


220 


KENMOOR WOOD 


gerous everywhere, even in broad day. There’s a long 
way the road goes through woodlands; and the path 
is so narrow that we may easily lose it in such dark¬ 
ness. And we may meet with Roundhead soldiers 
who will be worse than robbers.” 

^‘To-morrow morning, at nine o’clock—” said 
Lucy, slowly. 

For a moment her companion hesitated; then she 
spurred her horse forward. “We will go,” she said, 
between clenched teeth. “God will protect us while 
on such an errand. But we have no time to lose. Let 
us not miss the turning.” 

Soon thereafter their horses’ heads had been turned 
toward Wicksbury and a long and weary journey 
was begun. The poor old steeds, knowing well that 
they now faced away from their dry and comforting 
stalls and well-filled mangers, went forward most un¬ 
willingly, seeming to protest that a day’s work and 
more had already been done. Except in the imme¬ 
diate neighborhood of the towns, the road was little 
better than a muddy track through the fields and 
moors, and constant watchfulness was necessary to 
avoid losing it in the darkness. Fortunately, it was 
somewhat familiar to Mistress Hinsdale, as she had 
twice ridden over it in years gone by, and was able 
to recall the right turnings at the crossroads. 

Twice they made long detours to avoid the prin¬ 
cipal streets of villages where soldiers might be quar¬ 
tered and sentries posted; and these delays made 


221 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


necessary a rigorous spurring of their mounts on the 
open stretches. They must reach Manchester's quar¬ 
ters long before sunrise, for if the general were pre¬ 
vailed upon to grant reprieve, his messengers must 
arrive at Stafford before Cromwell’s court martial 
had completed its work. So the riders pushed for¬ 
ward determinedly, insisting on a sharp trot through 
muddy hollows where, under any other circumstance, 
a walking pace would have well contented them, and 
flogging their mounts to a gallop whenever they 
found themselves on firmer ground. 

Thus riding, they had covered by midnight more 
than half the distance to Wicksbury, and had come 
to the edge of Kenmoor Wood. From this point, as 
Mistress Hinsdale told her companion in half whis¬ 
pers, their road wound about among the forest hills 
and streams for twelve or fifteen miles ere it emerged 
on Wilby Common; and they must proceed more 
slowly lest they wander from the path in the darkness. 

The ground was less trodden here, and but little 
snow had fallen, so the footing was better than on 
the open moors. The moon had risen, though its 
face was still thickly covered with clouds; and on 
the higher levels in the woodland or where the trees 
were widely spaced they could easily make out the 
road. But whenever the path dipped into deep val¬ 
leys or wound among thick-growing underwood they 
rode in a pall of deepest blackness and must perforce 
depend on the instinct of their horses to avoid going 


222 


KENMOOR WOOD 


hopelessly astray. In such gruesome places, where 
they could not see their hands before them, it was 
necessary to ride with heads bowed forward to avoid 
low-hanging branches that might otherwise tear their 
faces or pluck out their very eyes. 

Emerging from such a valley of darkness, and 
looking up to note the road ahead, the riders both 
drew rein at once with gasps of surprise and fear and 
came near to crying out aloud. The path ran straight 
up the slope for fifty paces. At the summit, clearly 
outlined against the gray sky, were two armed and 
mounted men that had that moment appeared from 
the other side of the rise and now rode straight down 
upon them. 

Without a word, Lucy turned her horse’s head to 
one side and spurred away into the undergrowth. 
Mistress Hinsdale instantly followed her; and they 
might have gone some distance into the wood had 
they not encountered trunks and boughs so closely 
growing as to make progress impossible. So they 
remained perfectly still, scarcely ten feet from the 
trodden path, trembling with fear as with ague and 
praying for the darkness to cover them. 

By great good fortune, their horses were both dark 
bays, and their cloaks and bonnets blue or black, so 
there was naught to catch the eye of any save the 
keenest observer. As the men came opposite it was 
clear from their weapons and their headgear that 
they were Puritan soldiers; they carried short-bar- 

223 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


reled, bell-mouthed musketoons and wore the steeple- 
crowned felt hats that were common in the Par¬ 
liamentary army. The horses of the hidden riders 
were side by side and close together in the under¬ 
growth. Mistress Hinsdale clutched the hand of her 
companion in a shuddering grip, and Lucy’s tongue 
was fairly frozen to the roof of her mouth. So for 
an endless moment they sat, staring at the silent 
horsemen who moved slowly past into the gloom of 
the lower valley. For a minute or two longer the 
sound of hoof strokes was audible; then this too 
ceased, and the forest again became utterly still save 
for the moaning wind in the branches. 

Mistress Hinsdale, who was nearer the road than 
Lucy, gave vent to a long sigh, then leaned backward 
in her saddle and tightened her bridle reins with the 
evident intent of backing her horse from the under¬ 
growth. But Lucy, who was still listening intently, 
clutched her hand and sounded a low hiss of warning. 

“What is it?” whispered Mistress Hinsdale. 

“More riders,” answered Lucy, tightening her 
handclasp. “Hist! There they come over the hill.” 

Now again the sound of hoofs was plainly heard, 
and louder than before. A numerous company was 
mounting the hill, and its leaders already appeared 
where the two silent horsemen had first been seen. 
Riding two by two, they came slowly down the slope, 
and passed the hiding place of the women. Fifty— 
sixty—a hundred of them rode past. Some were 

224 


KENMOOR WOOD 


talking in low tones, and two or three were droning 
the words of a psalm, but most rode silently and with 
their heads bent low to keep the wintry wind from 
their throats. 

When the last had gone by and the wood was still 
again, Lucy whispered: 

‘‘The first were scouts in advance. Let us wait a 
little longer. There may be a rear guard also.^^ 

A moment later the wisdom of this thought was 
proved by the appearance of two more soldiers who 
rode at the same walking pace in the wake of the 
others. When these also had disappeared and no 
hoof stroke or clink of arms could be heard, the wo¬ 
men turned their horses back to the path and resumed 
their journey. The minutes they had passed in hid¬ 
ing had seemed like hours; delay of any sort might 
lead to failure, and they were more than ever fear¬ 
ful lest they arrive too late. 

Splashing through shallow pools and streams, 
stumbling on hidden stones and toilsomely climbing 
the rough hillsides, the old work horses made unwill¬ 
ing speed through the forest. Two hours after the 
meeting with the cavalrymen they crossed a timber 
bridge near a crossroad that Mistress Hinsdale re¬ 
membered as being near the common and thus but two 
or three miles from Wicksbury. Already they could 
see the arch of sky ahead where their forest road 
emerged on the open land, and their hearts grew 
lighter with the thought of the journey^s end. 

225 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


But they had not yet passed from beneath the for¬ 
est trees when they heard behind them the thunder 
of many hoofs on the bridge planks. Mounted men 
had come from the crossroad and were riding in 
their wake. At this ominous sound the riders fran¬ 
tically set spurs to their horses’ sides and urged them 
to a run. 

Tired and worn as were their mounts, and little 
capable at any time of speed, the fugitives might soon 
have placed a safe distance between them and those 
who followed had it not been that as they rode up 
tlie slope toward the open their figures and those of 
their horses were outlined against the sky and thus 
easily to be seen by any in the valley behind them. 
As they drove forward, bending low over their hor¬ 
ses’ manes, a shout was heard, then a ringing com¬ 
mand to halt and surrender This being disregarded, 
a shot rang out and a bullet cut the twigs from 
branches over their heads. 

Now they emerged on the snow-covered plain 
where there was no cover save a few scattered furze 
bushes that would hardly serve to hide a hunted fox. 
At the same instant the moon broke forth from the 
clouds and brightly lit the landscape far and near. 
The terror-stricken women spurred desperately on, 
regardless of everything save the thought of escape; 
but the poor old horses were already stumbling and 
wheezing; and now their pursuers had come to the 
edge of the wood. More shouts were heard, and 

226 


KENMOOR WOOD 


again a musket roared. With a groan of despair 
Mistress Hinsdale drew her horse to a halt, and Lucy, 
who was a few paces ahead, turned about and re¬ 
joined her. Instantly they were surrounded by the 
soldiers, and one who seemed an officer sternly ad¬ 
dressed them. 

^‘Who are you, and what do you here? By my 
faith! ’tis women—or men that have donned women’s 
clothing.” 

“Aye,” answered Mistress Hinsdale, tremulously, 
“we are women surely, and on an errand of life and 
death.” 

“What are your names? And what your errand? 
Know you not this road is forbidden to all save the 
Parliament’s forces?” 

“Nay, we knew it not. I am Mistress Hinsdale of 
Hinsdale Hall; and my companion here is Mistress 
Dalrymple of London.” 

“Hinsdale Hall!” echoed the captain. “Then you 
are the wife of Sir William Hinsdale.” 

“Aye, truly.” 

“Then I should know you well,” exclaimed the cap¬ 
tain, peering eagerly the while at his prisoners. “I 
am Captain Drury, son of Squire Anton Drury of 
Wycomb Grange, scarce ten miles from Hinsdale. 
And more than once in happier days than these 
I have danced to the music of fiddles at Hinsdale 
Hall.” 

“Then, Captain,” said Mistress Hinsdale, raising 

227 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


her head proudly, ‘‘do you not know me for the mis¬ 
tress of that house?” 

“Aye, that I do, indeed!” cried Drury. “Now that 
I see you clearly I could swear it.” 

“Hinsdale Hall no longer exists,” said the lady, 
sadly. “Your Colonel Oliver Cromwell took it by 
storm yesterday, and blew it up with gunpowder, af¬ 
ter making prisoners of all that remained alive within 
it. Those prisoners included my husband and son and 
Captain Myles Delaroche.” 

“Captain Myles Delaroche of Stapleton’s Horse?” 
questioned Drury in amazement. “Why, Mistress 
Hinsdale, how could he be made prisoner?” 

“There’s a long tale to tell of that,” was the reply, 
“and ’tis the tale of our errand at Wicksbury. You 
may choose. Captain, to let your men ride on before 
us, and we will acquaint you with it fully.” 

The captain gave the necessary orders, ana the 
troopers, under the command of a junior officer, re¬ 
sumed their march toward the town. Riding with 
the two ladies at fifty paces behind the company. Cap¬ 
tain Drury was acquainted with the charges made 
against Myles Delaroche and the imminent peril in 
which he stood at the hands of Cromwell’s court-mar¬ 
tial. 

“Why, this is intolerable!” cried Drury. “I know 
Captain Delaroche of old. He was my schoolfellow 
at Romney. He is no more a traitor to our cause than 
I am.” 


228 


KENMOOR WOOD 


“Nevertheless,” said Lucy, “Cromwell will surely 
have him executed if none of higher authority inter¬ 
vene.” 

“It shall never be,” declared Drury. “My Lord 
Manchester will not permit it.” 

“ 'Tis in that hope we ride to Wicksbury,” said 
Mistress Hinsdale. “And we must make haste, for 
Colonel Cromwell brings together that court of his 
at nine o’clock.” 

“Then we will make haste, indeed,” cried the cap¬ 
tain. “Lord Manchester shall hear of this at once, 
if I pull him from his bed by force to tell it him. 
What ho, there, Bounderby! Let them gallop from 
here to the town’s edge.” 

The lieutenant echoed the command, and the troop 
at once galloped forward with Captain Drury and 
his companions following at such speed as the weary 
old plow horses could muster. A few minutes later, 
just as the clocks were striking three, the party rode 
into the town and halted before the door of the gen¬ 
eral’s quarters. 

Captain Drury fairly overwhelmed the sentinels, 
insisting that his business could not wait an instant 
and that the general must be called at once. Roused 
by the tumult of voices. Lord Manchester called out 
from his sleeping room that he was rising. Five 
minutes later he appeared in the outer room, fully 
dressed and armed. Gravely acknowledging Captain 
Drury’s introduction of Mistress Hinsdale and Lucy, 

229 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


he bade them be seated, and soon was listening closely 
to their account of the fight in Dugdale Wood, the 
storming of Hinsdale Hall, the arrest of Captain Del- 
aroche and Colonel Cromwell’s intentions with re¬ 
gard to his prisoner. 

When the tale was finished and some few questions 
answered. Lord Manchester sat for a time in thought, 
while the others watched his countenance in breath¬ 
less silence. At length the general reached for paper 
and pen, and wrote rapidly: 

To Colonel Oliver Cromwell 

Manchester's Army of the Parliament 
Greetings : 

On receipt of this order you will at once deliver all 
of the prisoners taken at Hinsdale Hall, including Sir 
William Hinsdale, Arthur Hinsdale and Captain 
Myles Delaroche, to the hearer. Captain Thomas 
Drury, who zvill bring them to Wickshury. At the 
same time send to me your report of the action at 
Hinsdale and any recommendations as to the disposal 
of the prisoners. 

Manchester. 

As soon as he had finished, the general placed the 
paper before Mistress Hinsdale and Lucy and indi¬ 
cated to Captain Drury that he was to read it also. 
A moment sufficed to acquaint all three with its con¬ 
tents. Then Lord Manchester, addressing the cap¬ 
tain, began speaking rapidly: 

‘‘Take twenty men, and the best horses you can 

230 


KENMOOR WOOD 


find, and deliver that letter before nine o’clock. I 
will expect you here with the prisoners before night¬ 
fall. Send Gilsum to me at once, in order that he 
may find suitable quarters for these ladies.” 

Captain Drury saluted and withdrew. Sergeant 
Gilsum soon appeared to conduct the ladies to a house 
near by where they might find food and rest, and the 
general withdrew to his bedroom. Twenty minutes 
later. Captain Drury and his detachment rode out of 
the town at full gallop. 

At five in the afternoon they reappeared, with the 
prisoners riding in their midst. Cromwell’s report 
on the taking of Hinsdale Hall and related matters 
was delivered to the commander. Very soon there¬ 
after Sir William and Arthur Hinsdale and Myles 
Delaroche, with Mistress Hinsdale and Lucy, were 
summoned to appear at headquarters. Each one in 
turn was bidden to tell the tale of Myles’ captivity 
and of the fight in the wine cellar. When all had 
finished, the general, with hardly a moment’s con¬ 
sideration, erased all charges against Myles and bade 
him return next day to his troop. 

Sir William and Arthur were placed in the custody 
of Colonel Whitby, who held Northridge Castle for 
the Parliament; and Captain Drury was ordered to 
ride on the morrow with two companies of cavalry to 
escort the ladies on their return to Hinsdale Village. 


CHAPTER XIX 


NASEBY 

T he downfall of the Puritan armies, so con¬ 
fidently predicted by their enemies in the win¬ 
ter of 1643, come to pass. On the 

contrary, the minor successes gained by Cromwell in 
the Midlands served to revive the drooping hopes of 
the Parliament party and proved the forerunners of 
great victories. 

In June, Prince Rupert and Lord Newcastle were 
met on Marston Moor by the united armies of Fair¬ 
fax, Manchester and Leven; and there the fiery young 
prince had ample fulfillment of his wish to meet 
Cromwell on the field. ‘‘Where is Cromwell?” Ru¬ 
pert had inquired on the eve of the battle. “If he 
meet us, he shall have enough of it.” “If it please 
Heaven,” was the Puritan’s reply when the boast was 
reported to him, “so shall he.” 

No sooner was the battle begun than Cromwell 
seized the initiative and hurled his troopers against 
Rupert’s unbeaten cavalry. A terrific struggle en¬ 
sued, as when Greek met Greek at Leuctra. At the 
first shock Cromwell was forced back, as all others 
had been who had met Prince Rupert at the point of 

232 


NASEBY 


the sword. But the Parliament champion rallied his 
men and returned to the charge. At last the stern 
Puritans broke through the lines of their enemies, 
^‘scattering them like a little dust.” 

After Marston Moor, Lord Manchester placed 
Myles Delaroche in command of a regiment. Myles’ 
elder brother, John, had returned from America, and 
was a captain in Essex’s army. During the following 
winter the brothers spent three or four weeks together 
at Grimsby, and John was ouspoken in his apprecia¬ 
tion of the improvements which had been effected in 
his absence. He was himself an able and energetic 
administrator, and never tired of relating his strug¬ 
gles and triumphs in subduing the wilderness on his 
land grant in Massachusetts. This was a tract of 
five thousand acres in the fertile valley of the Con¬ 
necticut. John had named it Cedricswold in honor 
of the first Delaroche. Already a substantial house 
and barn of logs had been erected, a herd of fifty 
cattle grazed among the stumps on the burnt-over 
and grass-sown hillsides, and more than a hundred 
acres were broken to the plow. 

A curious turn in the fortunes of war gave Sir 
William and Arthur Hinsdale their liberty. North- 
ridge Castle was taken by a sudden foray of the 
King’s forces, much as Hinsdale Hall had been cap¬ 
tured by Cromwell the previous year; and the pris¬ 
oners were enabled to rejoin their regiments. Sir 
William’s health had suffered during his confinement, 

233 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


but he insisted on rejoining the King’s army as soon 
as he could ride. Mistress Hinsdale was living in a 
cottage at Hinsdale Village while agents of the Par¬ 
liament administered the seized estate. James Dal- 
rymple and Lucy were with the Court at Oxford. 

In the spring of 1645 both sides felt sure the ap¬ 
proaching campaign would be decisive. The armies 
of Charles had rallied after their disaster at Marston 
Moor, and the King had inflicted a defeat on Essex 
at Lostwithiel. Cromwell and other clear-sighted men 
had urged in Parliament that the weakness of their 
army lay in its local and half organized character, it 
being after all merely an aggregation of the militia 
regiments of the counties. The organization of a 
New Model army was urged, this to be wholly under 
the authority of Parliament and to receive its pay 
from the general treasury. It was to consist mostly 
of volunteers—men whose principal interest was the 
success of the cause. Discipline was to be greatly 
strengthened, and the men were to be rigidly trained 
in the use of their weapons. No member of either 
House of Parliament was to hold a military commis¬ 
sion. 

These proposals, aided by Cromwell’s stormy elo¬ 
quence, finally prevailed, and work was begun imme¬ 
diately in the organization and drilling of the New 
Model Army, Lord Fairfax was given command, and 
Essex, Manchester, Waller and Cromwell, as mem¬ 
bers of Parliament, were excluded. The first three 

234 


NASEBY 


of these commanders had no further part in the con¬ 
duct of the war, but the fourth, instead of being de¬ 
prived of military office, actually found the way to 
high command made easy by the new enactment. Its 
real effect in respect to Cromwell was that two or 
three of those who outranked him were removed 
from his path. The post of lieutenant general—the 
second in command—was left open; and it was to 
this position that Cromwell very soon succeeded. He 
was already the most renowned of cavalry command¬ 
ers, the victory at Marston Moor having raised his 
fame above that of Prince Rupert himself. Even 
with the new law in force, the Parliament majority 
found urgent need of Cromwell’s services in the 
West, so a special exemption was made for his em¬ 
ployment for forty days, and then for forty days 
thereafter. Finally it became evident that a great 
battle was impending which would decide the fate of 
the eastern counties and perhaps the outcome of the 
war. Fairfax eagerly applied to the Parliament for 
special permission to have Cromwell serve as lieuten¬ 
ant general. The occasion was a desperate one, and 
the Houses complied. On the morning of the thir¬ 
teenth of June the hero of Marston Moor rode into 
Fairfax’s quarters at Naseby at the head of a body 
of six hundred horse which he had hastily recruited 
in Cambridgeshire. He was instantly placed in com¬ 
mand of all the Parliamentary cavalry, and the very 
next day led them forth to a glorious and decisive 

235 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


victory. When the sun went down on the bloody 
field of Naseby the star of Charles Stuart had set 
forever and that of Oliver Cromwell had risen. 

With a heart filled with triumph and his counte¬ 
nance ashine with gladness, Myles Delaroche was 
riding alone across a portion of the field whence two 
hours before the last of the royalists had fled. Major 
Drury and the company officers had been reforming 
the regiment and ascertaining the losses it had sus¬ 
tained while their colonel with the other regimental 
commanders was engaged in a conference at the head¬ 
quarters of Lord General Fairfax. As yet none 
knew the full extent of the Puritan victory, for 
prisoners were still pouring in, and cavalry was still 
pursuing the enemy’s broken forces; but more than 
half of the royal army had been destroyed, all of its 
artillery and supplies had been captured, and the 
King himself had come near to being made a pris¬ 
oner. The conference over, Myles rode toward his 
quarters with his whole being in a glow of happiness. 
Now at last fulfillment of all hopes and dreams! 

Here and there on the field moved bodies of 
stretcher bearers, attending as well as might be to 
the desperate needs of the wounded or bearing them 
away to rude hospital quarters; and everywhere lay 
the dead—in places so thickly strewn that it was hard 
to find a way between the bodies. But to such terrible 
sights Myles had long been accustomed by the grim 
experience of war. At the moment he was thinking, 

236 


NASEBY 


not of the pitiable victims on the ground about him, 
but of the long deferred triumph of a righteous cause 
and the dawn of a better day for England. 

Suddenly as though a pistol had been levelled at 
his head, he drew his horse to a halt and for a breath¬ 
less moment sat staring with open mouth at the body 
of a Cavalier officer that lay face up and only twenty 
feet away. Then he sprang from his saddle and ap¬ 
proached the fallen man. A terrible pain wrung his 
heart and contorted his features. Falling on his 
knees by the body of his friend, he wildly called his 
name, and, half blinded by a torrent of tears, strove 
to undo the clothing at throat and breast to learn 
whether there were any faintest beating at the heart. 

It was useless—even as his first glance had told 
him. Arthur Hinsdale had fallen with a pistol bul¬ 
let through the face, and his body was already cold 
in death. Myles rose to his feet and stood for a long 
time looking down at this sad spectacle with his 
thoughts far away from battles and victories. Then 
a voice hailed him from a little distance—a voice of 
grief and pain that matched his own: 

‘‘Captain! Oh, Captain Delaroche!’’ 

Myles wheeled about and saw a group of prisoners 
who were being marched across the field by three or 
four Puritan pikemen. The man who had called was 
evident at once, for he had halted and turned toward 
Myles in such a way as to bring to a stop the whole 
gloomy procession. He was, as Myles at once re- 

237 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


membered, a former gamekeeper at Hinsdale Hall, 
one Oswald Banning, who had taken part in the ill- 
starred defense of the manor and been made prisoner 
along with Sir William and Arthur Hinsdale and 
Myles himself. He had gained his liberty at the 
same time as his master, and now was again in Pur¬ 
itan hands. 

“Oh, Captain!” called Oswald again. “Master Ar¬ 
thur’s killed.” 

“I know,” answered Myles, sadly. “I have just 
found his body here.” 

“Oh, is he there?” exclaimed the prisoner, “It was 
to ask you to look for him that I called to you. And, 
oh, sir, for his mother’s sake, will you not see that he 
has Christian burial?” 

“That I will, surely,” replied Myles. “I will have 
him borne from here, and to-morrow will do what I 
may.” 

Then addressing one of the pikemen, he ordered: 

“Go with this prisoner and procure a litter. We 
will take this body to my tent yonder. The others 
may go on as before.” 

The line of prisoners with their captors moved for¬ 
ward, and Oswald and the pikeman hurried to another 
part of the field where they found a litter. Soon the 
body of Arthur was carried into the colonel’s tent, and 
the pikeman sent to rejoin his detail. Oswald and 
Myles stood side by side before the litter, gazing at the 
face of the dead, and for long neither of them spoke. 

238 


NASEBY 


At last, and in a half whisper, the prisoner asked: 

“What will you do, may I ask, sir, about his burial 
to-morrow 

“Oh!” said Myles, after a moment, “I will find some 
quiet spot, away from the field, where a grave may be 
made, and I will have the chaplain in attendance for 
the burial/’ 

“The chaplain!” echoed Oswald, distressfully, “he 
would not be a clergyman, would he, now?” 

“Not what you call a clergyman, I suppose. Yet 
I believe him to be a good and an earnest man.” 

“Oh, sir!” cried Oswald, and now the tears poured 
down his cheeks, “it’s of his mother I’m thinking 
and of Sir William too. I know full well they would 
prefer that Master Arthur be buried without minister 
of any sort if it may not be a clergyman like Doctor 
Worcester who christened him and confirmed him like 
all the other Hinsdales. Come, sir, you were his 
friend, if you are a Parliament man. Cannot you 
and I carry out poor Master Arthur by ourselves and 
bury him where none of those who hated him are 
looking on? I’m sure, sir, he’d rest more peacefully.” 

Myles did not reply, but for a time stood looking 
fixedly at the body of his friend. Then, moving 
quickly out of the tent, he called to a soldier and 
sent him to the supply wagons to procure a shovel 
and mattock. When these tools arrived the colonel 
laid them across the litter bars and signed to Oswald 
to take up the farther end. Stooping at the same 

239 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


time as the forester, he took up the head of the bier 
and the two with their burden passed out of the 
tent and through the crowded and disordered camp 
ground. 

For a quarter of a mile they walked without pause, 
and when they lowered the litter to the ground, the 
camp ground and the battle field lay behind them. 

They were at the entrance of a grassy valley where 
scattered oaks shaded the green turf, and a little 
stream wandered among musk roses and the foliage 
of daffodils—a lovely pastured glade like hundreds 
scattered through the countryside that after years of 
civil strife still spoke of peace and quietness. 

Stooping again to the litter bars, Myles led the 
way for a furlong up the valley and paused beneath 
the spreading branches of an ancient tree. 

“This would be a fitting spot, would it not, Os¬ 
wald?” he asked. 

“Aye, sir, a quiet and pretty spot as one might 
wish; and we may know it again by the tree which is 
the largest hereabouts.” 

“Then let us make haste,” said Myles, “for Twill 
soon be night.” 

Taking up the mattock, he marked out a space near 
the edge of the shadow cast by the branches and 
where the turf was thickly strewn with woodland 
flowers. Oswald seized the shovel, and without more 
words, the two cut through the sod and roots and 
threw out the mellow earth till they judged the ex- 

240 


NASEBY 


cavation sufficiently wide and deep for a soldier’s 
resting place. Then tenderly lifting the body from 
the litter, they placed it in the giave and covered it 
from view. 

When the mound had been raised and the turf re¬ 
placed, the old forester in a piteous tone again ad¬ 
dressed his companion: 

“Oh, sir, for his mother’s sake, might I not say 
the burial service over Master Arthur’s grave? He 
was a good lad always to us poor men, he was, sir; 
and now ’twould ease me greatly to know he had 
Christian burial so far as might be in these terrible 
times.” 

“Can you say the burial service?” asked Myles 
gravely. 

“Aye, that I can, sir. I was precentor in Hinsdale 
Church for twenty years; and so many times I’ve 
heard the burial service as Doctor Worcester read it 
that I can say it like a lesson, sir. Do but give me 
leave to try.” 

“Go on, Oswald,” was the reply, “if ’twill ease 
your mind. ’Tis forbidden, I know, by our worthy 
governors; but perhaps even they have not all wis¬ 
dom.” 

So, standing by the mound with bared head and 
folded arms, the Puritan colonel listened while the 
old Hinsdale retainer recited the profound and beauti¬ 
ful lines to the sound of which the bodies of his 
countrymen for many generations past had been laid 

241 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


in the dust. The forester had a deep and resonant 
voice, and he spoke with utter earnestness. Like the 
music of a great funeral march, the cadences rolled 
forth on the evening air. The words seemed to fill 
the wide spaces about them as the rolling chords of 
the organ fill the cathedral nave and transept. In 
another sense, they seemed akin to the sounds of the 
wind in the branches overhead or of the brook that 
murmured over mossy stones—as if it were the voice 
of Nature herself that uttered them. 

In that moment, more clearly than ever before, 
Myles Delaroche understood the response of so many 
thousands of the sons of England to the rallying cry 
of Church and King. And he saw that no peace 
would be durable, on whatever victories founded, if 
those who triumphed sought to impose their sway 
upon the nation and to forbid all forms of worship 
save their own. Engrossed in such thoughts as these, 
rather than in the actual words of the service, he 
was unmindful of what went on about him until Os¬ 
wald, in the midst of a long, sonorous passage, hesi¬ 
tated and stopped. The old forester was gazing up 
the valley, and alarm was plainly written on his coun¬ 
tenance. When, after a moment, he did not resume 
his recital, Myles faced about to see what had startled 
him. 

Fifty paces away stood three Puritan officers who 
had come down unheard through the darkening val¬ 
ley and had halted at the sight of Myles and his com- 

242 


NASEBY 


panion under the oak tree. One, a heavily built man 
of middle age, with a heavy sword and pistols at his 
belt, stood a little nearer than his comrades and seemed 
to listen eagerly. It was already too dark to distin¬ 
guish faces; but Myles from the first glance had little 
doubt of this officer’s identity. He was the same who 
had arrested him in the cellars of Hinsdale, and who 
had virtually condemned him to death for treason 
to the Puritan cause. Turning back to the trembling 
forester, Myles said in a low voice: 

‘‘Go on—to the end.” 

Brokenly, Oswald resumed his recitation. Myles 
looked straight before him at the blackening hillside. 
A moment later the service was concluded, and both 
Myles and Oswald turned toward Cromwell who 
now strode rapidly toward them. 

“Who is this that recites from the Prayer Book?” 
the general called out roughly when he had covered 
half the distance. 

“He is a prisoner, sir,” answered Myles. “He and 
I have just buried his master who was a friend of 
mine and who met his death to-day.” 

“And know you not, Colonel Delaroche, that the 
use of the Prayer Book is forbidden?” 

“Aye, sir, but the man whom we buried was of the 
King’s army; and I gave permission in this instance 
for the saying of the burial service.” 

“You gave permission, forsooth! You take too 
much upon yourself, sir. It seems we have fought 

243 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


to little purpose if this mummery is to be recited 
within half a mile of our camp. And I will tell you, 
Colonel Delaroche, that had I not seen myself with 
what will you fought this day, I might be influenced 
by such a happening as this to believe you had but 
little heart for the true cause and a purified worship.” 

There was a moment’s silence; then Cromwell went 
on still more roughly: 

'Tray tell me, who was this Malignant whom you 
name friend, and who must thus be honored?” 

"Captain Arthur Hinsdale.” 

For half a minute Cromwell stared fixedly at his 
subordinate. Myles steadily returned his gaze, but 
made no further reply. Then suddenly the general 
turned upon his heel and walked away. Rejoining 
his companions, he turned back up the valley by the 
way he had come. When they had disappeared, 
Myles and the old forester took up the empty litter 
and the tools and made their way back to the camp 
ground. 


CHAPTER XX 


THE AGREEMENT OF THE PEOPLE 


A fter Naseby events moved rapidly toward 
the downfall of the monarchy. One by 
one the armies of the King were beaten 
and scattered, and by the end of the year he held only 
a few fortified places and the authority of the Par¬ 
liament was acknowledged in nearly every county of 
England. At Stow in the following March, Myles 
Delaroche took part in the last pitched battle of the 
war; and a few weeks later King Charles fled from 
Oxford and surrendered to the Scots at Newark. Af¬ 
ter weary months of negotiation, the royal prisoner 
was delivered to the agents of the Parliament, and the 
Scottish army recrossed the border. 

Any durable settlement of the kingdom’s affairs 
seemed yet far away. The patriots were already di¬ 
vided into several parties, each with its own solu¬ 
tion for the tremendous problems that confronted the 
nation. Whole-hearted republicans like Myles Dela¬ 
roche disputed vainly with those who had, as they 
conceived it, borne arms not against the principle of 
monarchy but only against some extravagances and 
perversions of the kingly power, and who would have 

245 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


been glad to see King Charles reestablished after he 
had signed some charter or other provision against 
further misdoings. Parliament was extravagant in 
its demands, but timid and hesitant in enforcing them, 
because the views of its majority were not in har¬ 
mony with those of the leaders of the army. And 
these leaders in turn began to realize the limits of 
their authority and the dangers of overstepping them. 
In many regiments the soldiers of the rank and file 
were no longer content to be represented by their offi¬ 
cers : they had formed Soldiers’ Committees and 
elected Agitators who shrilly voiced their demands for 
arrears of pay and for a greater share in the govern¬ 
ment. 

One autumn day, something over two years after 
Naseby, the man who served as orderly at the quar¬ 
ters of Colonel Delaroche at Putney announced that 
three of the soldiers were without the door and that 
they requested speech with the Colonel immediately. 
Myles gave orders for their admittance, thinking to 
see another of the many committees with whom he 
had dealt of late in reference to pay and privileges. 
He was surprised, therefore, to find when they entered 
that only one of the trio belonged to his regiment. 
The others were of the infantry, and he could not 
recall ever having seen them before. Emmons, a vet¬ 
eran of Bel ford Troop, whom the colonel remembered 
as a leader in psalm singing and field preaching as 
well as a terrific swordsman whenever the battle was 

246 


THE AGREEMENT OF THE PEOPLE 


joined, introduced the others as Privates Smithson 
and Belknap of Lilburne’s regiment and lost no time 
in making known their errand. 

‘‘We made bold to come to you, sir,’’ he said, “for 
help in a matter wherein you can help us better than 
any man we know. We are drawing up a paper, sir, 
that states the wishes of the army, and as we think 
of the people of the country, touching upon a settle¬ 
ment of the country’s affairs. We have called it the 
Agreement of the People, and we hope ’twill prove 
to be that when ’tis circulated among them, for surely 
what we propose will assure to them the results of all 
our marching and fighting and the many lives of good 
men that have been lost. Yet we are not entirely 
agreed among ourselves as to some of the things it 
is to contain, and we sorely lack the services of a gen¬ 
tleman like yourself, sir. You are a scholar, which 
none of us are, and you can set forth this paper in 
fitting language.” 

“How do you propose to put such an instrument 
into effect?” asked the colonel. “Do you hope to 
have it agreed upon by Parliament?” 

“Maybe the Parliament,” answered Belknap, quickly, 
“but the Army and the people first of all. When 
’tis adopted by our Army Council it will be printed in 
thousands and carried all over England for the people 
to hear and act upon—that is, all those who have been 
against the usurper, Charles Stuart. As for others, 
they must take what’s given them.” 

247 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


“We come to you, Colonel Delaroche,’^ resumed 
Emmons, “because I knew you well as one who’d 
gladly see both king and lords done away with once 
for all. You’ve made no secret of that, sir; and so 
we’ve thought you’d be the one best fitted to assist us 
in this. Indeed, ’tis king and lords that have ridden 
on the backs of the people from old time, and this 
paper means to do away with them.” 

“What will you do with the King?” asked Myles, 
gravely. 

“Cut off his head,” shouted Belknap. “He is the 
Man of Blood who has brought all these miseries on 
England, and should be made to suffer for his crimes.” 

“No! No!” cried both his comrades at once. 

“ ’Tis a question we have yet to settle,” said Em¬ 
mons. 

“If that be the plan,” declared Smithson, “I for one, 
as I said before, will have naught to do with it. Peace 
is not to be gained by the shedding of more blood. 
And if you talk of vengeance, tell me, will you, who 
it was that said “Vengeance is mine?” 

“We shall have no lasting peace in England,” per¬ 
sisted Belknap, “till that arch traitor is dead. Day 
after day he frames plots and lies for our undoing. 
He promises the Scots one thing and the Irish another, 
and ourselves a wholly different thing. No two of 
these promises could possibly be kept. He makes 
them only to divide us among ourselves and so him¬ 
self come back to power. ’Tis known what his let- 

248 


THE AGREEMENT OF THE PEOPLE 


ters were that we took on the field of Naseby; and 
since that time it is the same. And all the while he 
plots with France for the sending of an army to crush 
us down and set him on the throne again. All this 
while he is a prisoner at Holmby House and elsewhere. 
Should we be weak enough to let him go, what would 
he do against us in France or Holland? General 
Cromwell, who all the summer has tried to deal with 
him to the end of some kind of settlement, has turned 
utterly against him at last; and, depend upon it, we 
shall finally have his word for ending it as it should 
be ended.’’ 

“If such be your intentions,” said Myles, ‘T surely 
cannot work with you. I believe ’twould be both 
folly and crime to do violence on the King. ’Twould 
make of him a martyr in the eyes of all those who 
have supported him; and those are nearly half the 
kingdom. Even though we held sufficient force to 
carry it through, ’twould be the worst possible begin¬ 
ning for our new republic. The bitterness of it would 
last for a hundred years.” 

“But these are not our intentions,” cried Emmons. 
“Only last night we wrestled with Belknap here for 
hours on this very thing. And ’twas then agreed that 
our paper should have no word of any such intention 
or so much as the name of king in it from beginning to 
end. What we plan is a commonwealth wherein all 
power shall be vested in a Parliament which shall be 
elected by the people.” 


249 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


^^All the people/’ interposed Smithson. 

“Aye, all the people, gentle and simple, rich and 
poor. And we’re to have it reserved that even the 
Parliament so elected shall make no laws as to mat¬ 
ters of religion and ways of worship or for impres¬ 
sing any of us for war service against our wills.” 

“And all laws must bear on all alike,” said Smith- 
son. “Lord and laborer, money-bag and mendicant 
—one law for all and no exemption.” 

“Why!” cried Myles, “I’d gladly work with you 
or any others for such a cause. Master Belknap, is 
it so you understand the paper is to be drawn ?” 

“Aye, sir,” was the surly response. “We were 
agreed well enough as to these things. But you did ask 
me what was to be done with the King; and I gave my 
opinion of what should be done and will be. As for 
the rest of it. I’m with them heartily. And, as they 
say, we agreed that the name of king was not to ap¬ 
pear at all in this paper.” 

“One more question,” said Myles, “Is it the thought 
of your group that if the paper it is proposed to draw 
along these lines be not accepted by the Army Coun¬ 
cil or by the Parliament, ’twill then be in order to take 
up arms to enforce its acceptance?” 

The Agitators were silent for a moment while each 
looked to the other for a reply. At last Emmons spoke 
—rather slowly and hesitantly: 

“It was our thought, sir, that we could make a paper 
so much in accordance with the will of the army—and 

250 


THE AGREEMENT OF THE PEOPLE 


the country—that ’twould gain general approval. If 
it do not, I for one would not favor imposing it by 
violence.’' 

“Then, on that understanding, I will work with 
you,” said the Colonel, “for I believe even a free gov¬ 
ernment should be based on the will of those who 
are governed. And now, if you like, we’ll sit and 
discuss these drafts you have. It may be we can 
come to agreement among ourselves; and if so 
we’ll call in others who may speak for other regi¬ 
ments.” 

For the rest of the day the four labored diligently 
at the framing and revising of the articles. By night 
a copy had been produced to which all appended their 
names, and a further meeting had been arranged for 
the following day which would be attended by Sexby 
and Rainborough, two other Agitators who for some 
weeks had been endeavoring to produce a paper of 
like import. 

A week later the Council of the Army met in the 
church at Putney to discuss the demands of the Agi¬ 
tators and a series of bitter complaints that they had 
lodged against the Parliament then sitting. 

The Parliament, so the soldiers’ representatives al¬ 
leged, had broken its agreements with them on no less 
than ten different points; and these grievances must be 
redressed. Defenders of the Parliament had retorted 
that the Army was even more lax in keeping the en¬ 
gagements it had made and that when these were once 

251 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


fulfilled, peace would be restored and the legislature 
would be able to satisfy all just demands. 

Myles Delaroche was present as the representative 
of the men of his regiment. Sexby, Smithson and 
Rainborough were there to speak for the Agitators, 
and General Frederic Ireton, Cromwell’s son-in-law, 
and Sir Hardress Waller for the more conservative 
reformers. In the absence of Lord Fairfax, General 
Cromwell presided. 

Since Naseby the power and prestige of Cromwell 
had steadily increased. Victorious in every battle 
where he had held command, he had acquired such 
ascendancy in the New Model Army as even Fairfax, 
its nominal leader, had never achieved. In the Par¬ 
liament and in other state councils he was equally suc¬ 
cessful. Clearheaded, logical, determined, and gifted 
at times with a fiery and compelling eloquence, he over 
and again shaped matters of legislation or of govern¬ 
mental policy in accordance with his will and in defi¬ 
ance of seeming majorities. Colonel Delaroche, who 
had become a close student of national affairs, lost no 
opportunity when in London for sitting as a listener 
to the debates at Westminster; and he had more than 
once reluctantly acknowledged that Cromwell most 
often prevailed because he had right and reason on 
his side—^because he saw more deeply than most of his 
associates into the tangled mazes of policy. In those 
days few men of observant turn doubted Cromwell’s 
further rise to power and place. Even then, one of 

252 


THE AGREEMENT OF THE PEOPLE 


the many factions into which the army was divided 
talked of pulling down Charles Stuart and placing 
Oliver Cromwell on the throne. 

Recalling Cromwell’s words in many Parliamen¬ 
tary discussions and those of both Cromwell and Ire- 
ton in previous meetings of the Army Council, Myles 
had no doubt that the whole tenor of the Agreement 
of the People would be utterly distasteful to both of 
them and was convinced that they would use every 
effort to prevent its adoption. He knew well the 
character of I reton’s thought on these matters. A 
fervid patriot and a sincere reformer along conserva¬ 
tive lines, Ireton would to the last cling to the ancient 
constitution of England that embodied institutions 
which had been a thousand years in the making, and 
would look upon the revolutionary proposals of the 
Agreement as leading to certain anarchy. Yet both 
Cromwell and Ireton looked with horror upon the 
prospect of a division in the army with its almost cer¬ 
tain consequence of civil war. Many times already they 
had pleaded for moderation in the Army Council and 
for an attitude of patience toward what the soldiers 
deemed the dilatory and half-hearted policies of Par¬ 
liament. It was very soon evident that they would 
take a similar position with regard to the burning 
question of the Agreement, and if they failed to im¬ 
press their views on the assembly, would endeavor to 
postpone any decision till the men should be in a dif¬ 
ferent frame of mind. 


253 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


‘‘The expressions in your constitution/’ said Crom¬ 
well to the assembled warriors, “are very plausible, 
and if we could jump clean out of one sort of gov¬ 
ernment into another, it is just possible there would 
not be much dispute. But is this jump so easy? How 
do we know that other people may not put together 
a constitution as plausible as yours? And even if this 
were the only plan proposed, you must consider not 
only its consequences, but the ways and means of ac¬ 
complishing it. According to reason and judgment, 
are the spirits and temper of the nation prepared to 
receive and go along with it? Give me leave to say 
this: there will be very great mountains in the way 
of this. It is not enough to propose things that are 
good in the end: it is our duty to consider conse¬ 
quences. And now let us proceed to consider the 
engagements and agreements which the army has al¬ 
ready made. When those are fully known and dis¬ 
posed of it will be open to any one who wishes to ten¬ 
der anything for the good of the public.” 

The instant Cromwell concluded one of the Agita¬ 
tors leaped to his feet. 

“This is merely a plan to put us from our purpose,” 
he shouted. “We are met to consider this Agree¬ 
ment of the People. This we believe to be the will 
of the people of England, and if that be so, what care 
need we have as to any prior engagements or agree¬ 
ments ?” 

“Is it not the very pith of your complaint against 

254 


1 


THE AGREEMENT OF THE PEOPLE 


the Parliament,” asked Ireton, ‘^that in ten different 
particulars it has violated agreements?” 

The Agitator replied angrily, and the dispute soon 
became general. Two or three men were shouting 
at once and shaking brawny fists to emphasize their 
words. Finally Cromwell’s determined pounding of 
the gavel brought silence. 

“Let us appoint a committee,” he said, “to examine 
into these former engagements. So may God unite 
us in one heart and mind. I had rather we should 
devolve our strength to you than that the kingdom for 
our division should suffer loss; for that’s in all our 
hearts to profess, above anything that’s worldly, the 
public good of the people.” 

“Let us have no more committees and no more de¬ 
lays,” cried another Agitator, “lest while we thus de¬ 
bate and consider the Parliament may come before us 
by patching up some peace with the King to the detri¬ 
ment of the natural rights of the people.” 

“We must keep our contracts,” answered Ireton 
hotly, “for all these natural rights you talk of depend 
on contracts rightly kept, else no man would know 
what was his own.” 

“Well, then,” said Captain Audley, “if we tarry too 
long in debating these natural rights, the King will 
come and say which of us shall be hanged first.” 

“Let us then consider of this paper, if that be your 
will,” said Cromwell. 

A chorus of ayes left no doubt as to the wish of the 

255 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


assembly, and the general reluctantly took up the copy 
of the Agreement that lay on his desk. 

When the article which provided for the election 
of a new Parliament had been read, Ireton asked 
whether it meant that the members were to be elected 
by the equal votes of all the people or whether the old 
suffrage instituted by the constitution that was before 
the Norman Conquest was to prevail. 

^‘Manhood suffrage cried Rainborough. ‘T think 
that the poorest he that is in England hath a life to 
live as well as the greatest he; and therefore, truly, 
sir, I think it clear that every man that is to live under 
a government ought first by his own consent to put 
himself under that government.’’ 

“Now you speak again of natural right,” declared 
Ireton. “But voting is not a right conferred by Na¬ 
ture. It is a civil right because it is granted or with¬ 
held by the State. No one ought to have a vote in this 
kingdom who has not a permanent, fixed interest in 
the kingdom, that is, the persons who hold the titles 
to the land and those in corporations in whom all trad¬ 
ing lies.” 

“But see how it now is,” urged Rainborough, pas¬ 
sionately. “A gentleman lives in the country and 
hath three or four lordships. When a Parliament is 
called, he must be a Parliament man. And what 
chance has a poor man against him? I find nothing 
in the law of God that a lord shall choose twenty bur¬ 
gesses and a gentleman only two and a poor man none. 

256 


THE AGREEMENT OF THE PEOPLE 


Why was a poor man given reason if he were not to 
use it?” 

A tumult of voices in assertion and denial filled the 
room. Poor men were at last being heard on the con¬ 
stitution of the nation; and their voices were loud 
rather than clear. Demands for equal justice for rich 
and poor—for noble and commoner—were mingled 
with fierce threats of vengeance on personal enemies 
and cries for the blood of tyrants. Charges and coun¬ 
ter charges were hurled back and forth, and more than 
one disputant offered to sustain his opinions at the 
point of the sword. At last the moderator succeeded 
in quelling the uproar sufficiently to make himself 
heard. “Let us confer in a manner more seemly,” he 
pleaded, “and choose words in speaking that savor 
not so much of ill-will. Why can we not avoid such 
vast questions as this and content ourselves with dis¬ 
cussing how far our existing franchise may safely be 
enlarged? Might it not be well, for instance, to ad¬ 
mit to the vote those who hold lands by lease as well 
as freeholders?” 

Yells of derision from some of the rear benches 
greeted this paltering compromise. In the midst of 
these Myles Delaroche slowly rose to his feet. 

“Men of England,” he said in a deep, tense voice 
that instantly made itself heard in every quarter of 
the room, “we are met to decide a question upon 
which, more than any other, depends the future wel¬ 
fare of our country. We have fought a long and 

257 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


bitter war because our ancient rights were trampled 
on by the King; and if we falter now that the victory 
is won, then our children after us or the Englishmen 
of future generations may be obliged to take up pike 
and sword in the same cause and again to dye the 
soil of England with the blood of her people. King 
Charles and his ministers have trampled on the pro¬ 
visions of the Great Charter. They have taxed the 
nation unlawfully, set up their own courts to do their 
will and imprisoned and put to death those who dared 
oppose them. And so, I tell you, will other kings 
and other ministers do in times to come unless here 
and now we put such tyranny beyond their power. 
Think you Charles Stuart would ever have dared his 
usurpations had he been opposed by a Parliament 
which represented the whole people, by officers of 
their choosing and an army that answered to their 
will? It is the meaning of this instrument that the 
people of the land are the source of government and 
that a just government derives its power from their 
consent. And the people are somewhat more than 
freeholders or copyholders or the heads of trading 
corporations. They are those who till the soil— 
those who dig and weave and forge and build—aye, 
and those who offer their lives on the battlefield—as 
well as those who sit in counting houses and those 
who spend the rent moneys drawn from the poor. 

“General Ireton talks of civil right. I tell you the 
civil rights and the property he is so anxious to guard 

258 


THE AGREEMENT OF THE PEOPLE 


are made valuable by the faithfulness of common men; 
and they will be safest when the rights of common 
men are best protected. 

'Tf you say to me that the rights of the people will 
be safeguarded by wise and honest men who are 
chosen by a select body of voters who have perma¬ 
nent, fixed interests in the country, I will answer that 
no man’s interests are well served save by agents who 
are responsible to him—that when the people’s repre¬ 
sentatives rule the land the government will be admin¬ 
istered in the people’s interest, and that it never 
will he otherwise, I move the adoption of this pro¬ 
vision in the sense that every freeman of England 
shall have an equal vote in the election of his repre¬ 
sentatives.” 

A roar of applause greeted Myles’ conclusion. 
Cromwell, with no attempt to conceal his impatience, 
turned away to speak with Ireton whose chair was 
near the moderator’s desk. But the shouts and cheers 
continued. Two or three cried seconds to the mo¬ 
tion, and presently shouts of ^‘Vote! Vote!” made 
themselves heard. 

Cromwell reascended the rostrum and rapped long 
and loud. 

“Shall we appoint tellers to collect ballots on this 
question?” he asked at length. 

“No! No!” came several replies, “vote by voice.” 

“Well, then, I will ask for the ayes on the motion 
of Colonel Delaroche.” 


259 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


A louder roar than before came in reply. With a 
wry smile Cromwell turned again to Ireton. 

‘^Shall I call for the nays?’’ he said. 

“No,” answered Ireton, “we will concede it as the 
vote of this gathering.” 

By this time the day was far advanced, and it be¬ 
came evident that a consideration of the proposed 
constitution, item by item, by the whole body would 
be impracticable. Therefore, a committee was ap¬ 
pointed for the further consideration of the Agree¬ 
ment of the People or of such other paper as they 
might recommend as the basis of a settlement. 

Cromwell’s concluding speech was in a far different 
tone from that of many former declarations on the 
government of England. Only a fortnight before he 
had told the House of Commons that it was impera¬ 
tive that the authority of the monarchy be restored. 
Now he said: 

“If we were free to do as we please, we would set 
up neither king nor lords. Further, we would not 
keep either king or lords if to do so is a danger to the 
public interest. Is it a danger? Some think so, 
others think not. For my own part, I concur with 
those who believe there can be no safety with a king 
and lords and even with those who think that God will 
probably destroy them/^ 


CHAPTER XXI 


THE HEADSMAN OF WHITEHALL 

T he Agreement of the People was not to be¬ 
come the fundamental law of England. The 
committee appointed by the Army Council 
for further consideration of the proposed constitution 
included both Sexby and Rainborough, but had such 
a majority of conservatives that the paper which was 
finally proposed as an address to Parliament was more 
nearly in accordance with the views of Ireton than 
with those of the Agitators. It was in effect merely 
another attempt to reach a compromise with the King. 
Not satisfied with this, the Levellers, as the party of 
the Agitators began to be called, made a move to have 
the Agreement considered at a rendezvous of the en¬ 
tire army. Cromwell was able to prevent this; but 
two weeks later when a muster was held on Corkbush 
Field many of the officers and soldiers appeared with 
copies of the Agreement stuck in their hats in token 
of their support of the Levellers’ demands. 

Myles Delaroche, on the ground that the Agree¬ 
ment must win by its appeal to reason and not by 
force, had refused to take part in this movement; but 
hundreds of minor officers and thousands of the men 

261 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


had no such scruples. They fully intended to carry 
their point by a display of armed power, to overawe 
their commanders and bring military pressure to bear 
cn the Parliament 

On the other hand, the power of Cromwell had in¬ 
creased tremendously in the week just past. The 
King had made a determined attempt to escape to 
France, and this had been defeated by the watchful¬ 
ness of Cromwell’s agents and by his own prompt ac¬ 
tion in preventing the sailing of the selected vessel. 
When these facts became known in the army there was 
a strong reaction in favor of the leader whose genius 
had won the victory for the patriot cause, and who 
now seemed the only one with sufficient resolution and 
readiness to prevent its fruits being snatched from 
their hands. So utterly were the fighting men di¬ 
vided on these and other issues that no one knew the 
real sentiments of the army as a whole or could proph¬ 
esy its conduct even for a day. 

The outcome was that in only one regiment did 
the soldiers refuse to obey the generals’ command to 
remove the offending papers from their hats. In 
this crisis Cromwell acted with characteristic courage 
and determination. Drawing his sword, he dashed 
into the midst of the ranks and threatened to slash off 
the head of any man who disobeyed. It was a peril¬ 
ous moment, for the mutineers might easily have cut 
him down; but the habits of discipline and the latent 
respect in the most unruly minds for such a daunt- 

262 


THE HEADSMAN OF WHITEHALL 


less leader prevailed at last. Tearing the proclama¬ 
tions from their hats, the soldiers begged for mercy. 
This was granted to all save three, who were con¬ 
demned to death as ringleaders. These three, how¬ 
ever, were allowed to throw dice for their lives; and 
the loser was immediately shot in the presence of his 
comrades. Thus ended the first serious effort to 
establish a democracy among English-speaking people. 

The belief of the soldiers of the New Model Army 
that Cromwell was their natural leader was soon con¬ 
firmed by events. Scotland refused to acquiesce in 
the acts of the Parliament and reasserted the sov¬ 
ereignty of the King. At the same time the royal 
standard was raised again in Wales and several of the 
northern English counties wavered in their alle¬ 
giance. The Parliament was desperately short of 
funds; there were disaffected districts in the very 
neighborhood of London, and murmurs both loud and 
deep in the capital itself. Not for years had the out¬ 
look been so gloomy. But Cromwell put himself at 
the head of a small body of troops and rode away to 
take command of the Parliamentary army in Wales. 
The men were but poorly equipped, for supplies of 
all sorts were scanty. Their leader trusted to victory 
to justify his course, and again his confidence proved 
well founded. In a fierce campaign of only a few 
weeks’ duration he broke down all resistance and 
raised the banners of Parliament over Pembroke Cas¬ 
tle, the last royal stronghold. 

263 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


But there was to be no respite for the followers of 
Ironsides. The Duke of Hamilton, at the head of 
a Scottish army of ten thousand men, had already 
crossed the border, and, with his force augmented 
every day by hundreds of northern royalists, was 
marching straight toward London. Cromwell must 
throw himself in his path or the capital would be taken 
and the war utterly lost. In this desperate juncture 
there could be no mercy on the soldiers. The march 
to the north was made under terrific difficulties. Half 
of the infantrymen were barefoot before it was con¬ 
cluded, and the roads from Wales to Yorkshire were 
strewn with discarded burdens and with the human 
derelicts of war. For three days together Myles Del- 
aroche and all his troopers marched behind their 
horses each of which carried two of the infantrymen 
who had fallen exhausted by the roadside. But for 
this expedient of the young cavalry colonel, all of 
these men must have been lost to the army. 

At last they faced the royalists at Preston. With 
the eager recruits from the former armies of the King, 
Hamilton's force was more than double that with 
which he had crossed the border, and Cromwell’s rag¬ 
ged veterans were outnumbered nearly three to one. 
Yet there was no hesitation in the Puritan ranks or 
in the mind of the commander. For three days the 
battle raged in the woods and fields about Preston and 
at the bridges and fords of the Ribble. Colonel Del- 
aroche was twice wounded, but continued at the head 

264 


THE HEADSMAN OF WHITEHALL 


of his regiment until he fell from his horse and was 
borne away by his men to the shelter of a woodman’s 
cottage. When the struggle ended all the forces that 
had marched under the royal banners were scattered 
or destroyed and their leader was a prisoner in Crom¬ 
well’s hands. Another crisis had been met and an¬ 
other victory won against seemingly hopeless odds. 

Myles lay at Preston for nearly two months while 
Cromwell and his lieutenants completed the work be¬ 
gun on that famous field. When in the autumn the 
young colonel rejoined his regiment the revolt had 
been thoroughly crushed, and he was sent by General 
Fairfax to rest and more thoroughly recover at his 
home in Shropshire. 

John Delaroche was also at Grimsby, having re¬ 
signed his captaincy at the close of the summer’s cam¬ 
paign. He had already wooed and won the daugh¬ 
ter of a neighboring squire, and it was agreed that 
they were to wed and to sail for America as soon as 
the country’s affairs were so far advanced toward set¬ 
tlement as to make it unlikely that John’s services 
would again be needed in the army. The brothers, 
meanwhile, worked happily together for the further 
improvement of the old estate. As Myles’ health 
and strength returned, he found his interest undimin¬ 
ished in the increase of their flocks and herds and the 
care of the timberlands. War and bloodshed were 
for the time forgotten, and the family councils around 

265 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


the old oaken dining table on the development of 
Grimsby lands were almost joyous occasions. 

Sir Anton Delaroche was in better health than he 
had been ten years before. The triumph of the 
Puritan cause had been as meat and drink to him, 
and he never tired of prophesying better days for 
England as soon as any tolerable settlement should be 
effected. 

Mistress Delaroche was still of stately carriage and 
vigorous habit, although the years of anxiety while 
both her sons were with the army had deepened the 
lines of care, and somewhat sharpened the features 
of her handsome countenance. Now that the fighting 
was over, she counted on happier days. She began to 
sing again as she moved about the house, working and 
planning for the future of her children. And now 
her best efforts were concentrated on persuading her 
elder son to abandon the thought of returning to 
America. 

In this, as Myles soon discerned. Mistress Del¬ 
aroche had the silent cooperation of Elizabeth Mel- 
drum, John’s fiancee, who spent many days at 
Grimsby. But John was of the sort not easily turned 
aside from a purpose he had held for years, and 
he returned decided negatives to all suggestions 
looking toward the sale or abandonment of Cedrics- 
wold. 

‘There’s a land for the future,” he declared. “A 
vast and wonderful land in which in due time shall be 

266 


THE HEADSMAN OF WHITEHALL 


another England, perhaps greater than this. And 
there I’d willingly see my family planted to have a 
share in its upgrowing.” 

“Aye, and a share in fighting bears and wild men 
and terrible serpents,” answered his mother with a 
shiver. “John, is it true that snakes are there to be 
seen with bodies like the cable of a ship?” 

“Nay, never in New England,” laughed John. 
“The winters there are far too cold to foster huge 
reptiles. In the Floridas, maybe, which are a thou¬ 
sand miles southward, such things may be seen, 
though for myself I doubt whether they be more than 
mariner’s tales.” 

“I’ve heard that the wild men there do eat of the 
flesh of people,” said Elizabeth. 

“Nay, nay,” laughed John again. “They’re fierce 
enough in war, as all know that have met them, but 
no man-eaters.” 

“Hold!” cried Sir Anton, suddenly rising and peer¬ 
ing from the window. “Here is one who rides at 
speed from Belford. It may be he has news from 
London. Oh, aye, ’tis John o’ Barker’s Mill. He’ll 
have some word for us.” 

The rider meanwhile had turned from the main 
road and come up the pathway toward the house, but 
he had not slackened speed and seemed minded to ride 
at full gallop to the very doorstone. Sir Anton stepped 
without to meet him, and the others stood looking 
forth from the open door. 

267 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


John o’ Barker’s drew rein violently, his horse’s 
hoofs throwing the gravel in all directions. 

‘‘They’re trying the King in London!” he shouted. 
“They’ve named him traitor and murderer and will 
put him to the death.” 

“Is’t the Parliament?” demanded Sir Anton. 

“Aye, the Parliament, or what’s left of it now that 
Cromwell aud his soldiers have had their will of it 
and turned out all who would not act with them. A 
rider just came in at the village. ’Tis thought this 
means another rising.” 

“Do the Lords concur in it?” asked Myles. 

“Nay, they’d have naught to do with it. ’Tis a 
High Court that the Parliament has made of a hun¬ 
dred or more, and every man picked to hang the King 
or cut off his head.” 

“How long have they been sitting?” 

“ ’Twas two days before Jeremy Tunstall rode out 
of London. They may have ended ere this and passed 
their sentence.” 

“Father,” said Myles, turning to the old baronet, 
“I must to London at once.” 

“Oh! and what will you do?” cried Sir Anton. 
“ ’Tis folly and madness that they do, but one man 
cannot check them.” 

“Myles!” cried his mother, “stay here where we 
live in peace. You’ve ridden and fought for years 
in this cause and come near to death on the field. And 

268 


THE HEADSMAN OF WHITEHALL 


Tis as your father says. You can do naught to check 
them.^’ 

‘‘Nay, I can try at the least,” answered Myles sadly. 
“This is madness and crime at once, and I very much 
fear will end in destroying all that which we have 
gained. But not all our leaders have the blood mad¬ 
ness. Surely some will listen to reason even now.” 

John o’ Barker’s wheeled about to carry his news 
farther, and John Delaroche took up the argument 
with Myles. 

“You’ll risk your life and liberty for naught,” he 
declared. “There’s Harrison and Goffe and Crom¬ 
well—they’re in the saddle now, since Preston. 
They’ll be the death of the King—I see it now—and 
also of any that say them nay.” 

“Nevertheless, I must go,” answered Myles firmly. 
“And at once, for there’s three or four hours of day¬ 
light left, and I can ride a dozen leagues. I will 
guard myself as best I may, but I cannot remain 
quiet while such a deed is done. Wilt tell William, 
John, to make ready my horse while I find furnish- 
ing?” 

He would listen to no further remonstrances, and 
ten minutes later had said his good-bys and was rid¬ 
ing toward the Shrewsbury road. The air was warm 
with a three days’ thaw, and the way was deep with 
a soft and clinging mud. Patches of dingy snow lay 
here and there in the lowlands and wherever the way 
was sheltered by forest trees. In spite of Myles’ im- 

269 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


patience his progress was but slow, for his steed went 
over fetlocks at nearly every step. That night 
he lay at Brixton which is only twenty miles from 
Grimsby. 

Before daybreak next morning he was up and 
away, spurring through muddy hollows, skirting the 
deeper pools wherein his horse might have sunken 
utterly, and fording tumbling streams; but although 
he rode for twelve hours and more, he covered scarcely 
more distance than one might have made in three at 
a more favorable season. So it was for most of the 
way to London. Twice he changed horses for better 
speed, and he gave no thought to his own weariness; 
but seven long days had passed ere he reached the city 
and halted at the little inn in the Strand where he was 
accustomed to lodge. 

There he learned that he was too late. Charles 
Stuart had been condemned as tyrant, traitor and mur¬ 
derer, and two days before had been led to the heads- 
man^s block at Whitehall. A strange and ominous 
silence brooded over the city dike that of the worst 
days of a pestilence. The Londoners, who at the 
outbreak of the war and all through its course had 
formed the very heart of the opposition to a sovereign 
that overstepped his powers now stood aghast at this 
bloody and merciless act against a helpless prisoner. 
People went about with lowering faces or gathered in 
little groups in courts and alleyways, conversing in low 
tones on the tragedy at Whitehall and looking with 

270 


THE HEADSMAN OF WHITEHALL 


hatred on the stern-faced pikemen who patrolled the 
streets. 

For a long and miserable week Colonel Delaroche 
wandered alone about the dismal town, avoiding alike 
the partisans of the fallen king and those among for¬ 
mer comrades and associates who had banded them¬ 
selves together to destroy him. During those black 
days it seemed to Myles that all the labors and sacri¬ 
fices of the war had been in vain and that the fruits of 
their hard-won victories were like the Dead Sea apples 
that turn to ashes in the mouths of those who eat them. 
Friends and kinsmen had slain each other only that 
the survivors might erect a new tyranny to fill the 
place of the old. From his memory flashed the bitter 
words of Sir William Hinsdale—“If your life is 
spared for ten years longer, youfll acknowledge that 
I was right and that your atheist lawyers and your 
howling sectaries were wrong. ’Tis not such as they 
who can administer a state.’’ Then, resolving to free 
himself from any part in the vengeful deed of the 
regicides and any responsibility for its consequences, 
Myles wrote and despatched to General Cromwell his 
resignation as an officer in the army of the Parlia¬ 
ment. 


CHAPTER XXII 


THE LEVELER 

D reary weeks passed while Myles remained 
without hope or plan. Those of the Puri¬ 
tan party who had opposed the execution 
of the King were in a helpless minority in the Army 
Council and in the remnant of Parliament that still 
met at Westminster. Myles conferred with Major 
Drury and two or three more of the moderates among 
the officers, and a council was held with Algernon 
Sidney and Sir Henry Vane, two of the Parliamen¬ 
tary leaders who had opposed Cromwell on the issue 
of the King’s trial. But all such efforts were fruit¬ 
less. The regicides were in the saddle, and they held 
the power of the sword. After an hour of discus¬ 
sion, with the proposal and rejection of many devices, 
the gathering decided that, as matters stood, resist¬ 
ance was both useless and dangerous. 

Meanwhile those who had seized the reins of gov¬ 
ernment were alert and relentless in maintaining their 
position and the authority of the new Commonwealth. 
Warrants were sent out all over the Kingdom for the 
arrest of Malignants, as those who persisted in their 
loyalty to the House of Stuart were now termed, and 

272 


THE LEVELER 


for the seizure of their property. The gallows and 
the ax were employed against the royalist leaders of 
the second civil war and freely threatened against any 
who befriended them. Long lists were published 
weekly setting forth the names of those who had been 
denounced as Malignants, and all the officers of the 
Commonwealth and all good citizens were exhorted 
to do their utmost to bring about their arrest and con¬ 
viction. 

One morning, late in April, Myles Delaroche, re¬ 
turning from a visit to a sick comrade, drew rein on 
London Bridge to read a proclamation of this sort 
that had been posted there. These ominous lists had 
all along possessed a strong appeal to his interest, 
though he abhorred the bloodthirsty spirit in which 
they were conceived, thinly veiled as it was with pious 
phrases; and now he scanned this latest pronounce¬ 
ment with mingled feelings of attraction and loathing. 
His glance went swiftly over the names of a score or 
more of threatened ones who were unknown to him 
or known only by report; and he had straightened up 
in the saddle preparatory to riding on, when sud¬ 
denly his eyes fastened themselves on a paragraph in 
tlie smaller type, near the bottom of the column. 

James Dalrymple [he read] late of Surrey Lane in 
London. Last heard from at Oxford and at Ports¬ 
mouth. And Lucy Dalrymple, his daughter. 

For full five minutes Myles remained immovable in 

273 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


the midst of the stream of passers-by, staring at the 
list, reading over and over its menacing phrases, study¬ 
ing the heavily printed names of the Committee at 
the bottom—Ireton, Bradshaw, Cromwell—and en¬ 
deavoring to form some plan of action. The temper 
of the Puritan majority being what it was, he well 
knew what might be expected if the Dalrymples fell 
into the hands of a revolutionary tribunal. The old 
man could hardly be regarded as a dangerous enemy 
of the Commonwealth, but he was sure to declare his 
sentiments without restraint if placed on his defense; 
and the courts before which such actions were brought 
were in no mood to hear assertions of loyalty to the 
young Charles or condemnations of those who had 
slain his father. If James Dalrymple were arrested, 
he might meet the same fate as the sovereign to whom 
for so many years he had given heartfelt allegiance. 

On the other hand, the Dalrymples might have fled 
from England. The reference to Portsmouth in the 
notice gave Myles some hope of this. He had no word 
of their whereabouts for two years or more, and it 
might be tliey were safe in France or Holland with the 
many other refugees. But his uncle had no resources 
outside the country, and by this time his personal for¬ 
tune must have been dissipated. If they had gone, it 
must have been as poor companions of some more for¬ 
tunate royalists, and such a course, Myles knew, would 
have been most reluctantly adopted. Altogether it 
seemed more likely that they were yet in England 

274 


THE LEVELER 


where many of the friends of more prosperous days 
were still in possession of their estates and able to af¬ 
ford them shelter. 

Suddenly Myles wheeled his horse about and rode 
away at a sharp trot in the direction of Whitehall. 
There he knew that Cromwell had taken up his lodg¬ 
ing, and, with a few associates, was already exercising 
an almost royal power. If an appeal were to be made 
from the Committee’s decision, it must be made to 
the only man in the kingdom who had power to order 
a reversal. Therefore Myles determined to waste no 
time upon subordinates or in any form of indirect ap¬ 
proach. Soon he was at the palace gates, demanding 
audience with the General. 

There were none of the formalities of a court in 
Cromwell’s surroundings—rather the bare and stern 
usages of a Puritan army camp. After Colonel Dela- 
roche had waited but a short time at the main entrance, 
a sentry conducted him to the door of Cromwell’s 
apartment and past the two musketeers who were sta¬ 
tioned there. 

Cromwell sat behind an oak writing table, with his 
hat and sword on a chair beside him and with a flint¬ 
lock pistol lying, as if by accident, near his right hand. 
The General did not speak upon Myles’ entrance, but 
sat with his gaze fixed piercingly on his visitor’s face. 
In this instant of silence Myles, looking downward 
upon the Puritan leader, caught a glint of metal under 
his garments at the neck, and knew that he wore be- 

275 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


neath his shirt a coat of woven mail that might serve 
to deflect the sword or dagger thrust of an assassin. 

“Ho I’* said Cromwell, when his scrutiny had satis¬ 
fied him that his visitor was indeed him whose name 
had been announced, “Colonel Delaroche, the Lev- 
eler.’’ 

“The Leveler, at your service,’’ replied Myles calmly. 
“I have no cause to repudiate the name.” 

“Nay,” said the other loweringly, “you were always 
confident enough of your opinions. But it seems I 
spoke too hastily just now in naming you colonel also. 
I believe you have thought fit to sever your connection 
with the Army of the Commonwealth.” 

“Yes, sir. I found myself in disagreement with 
some of its policies and could no longer remain a part 
of it.” 

“With zvhich of its policies?” demanded Cromwell, 
rising from his chair and thrusting his face toward 
his visitor. “Do you mean the execution of justice 
upon that Arch Malignant, Charles Stuart?” 

“I mean the execution of the King, yes, sir. Call 
it by what name you will.” 

For a moment Cromwell stood breathing hard and 
staring at the unflinching eyes before him. Then his 
shouting voice reverberated through the room and the 
hall without: 

“I tell you, Delaroche, and all others like you—all 
enemies of the Commonwealth of England, whether 
with carnal arms in their hands or with faltering and 

276 


THE LEVELER 


double dealing in their minds and hearts—we have 
executed Heaven’s justice on a traitor; and we will 
do the like to all those who gainsay us/^ 

^‘That I already understand to be your intention,” 
was the firm reply, ‘‘and I am not here for the purpose 
of disputing with you who surely have the power in 
your hands.” 

“Then for what purpose do you come?” growled 
Cromwell, throwing himself again into his chair. “Be 
brief, I pray you, for my time is much demanded.” 

“I saw upon the list of those attainted with treason 
against the Commonwealth the names of James and 
Lucy Dalrymple, and I came to say—” 

“Ho! your precious kin amongst the Malignants!” 
interrupted the General. “ ’Tis another reason your 
allegiance has been somewhat divided. Is it perhaps a 
family trait ?” 

“Neither James Dalrymple nor his daughter are 
blood kin of mine,” replied Myles, who was striving 
to remember that he came with a petition, “but his 
second wife was my father’s sister, and he bore him¬ 
self as a generous kinsman toward me until we differed 
on this very matter of my allegiance to the cause of 
the Parliament. Since then we have been estranged; 
but now I could gladly see the threat of this prosecu¬ 
tion lifted from him; and it is that I have come to 
ask.” 

“Know you not, Delaroche, that he was one of the 
most eager for the second war and the chance of over- 

277 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


throwing us while yet Charles Stuart lived, and that 
to-day he protests his loyalty to the young man, his 
son, who, having escaped through our negligence, now 
claims to be King of England?” 

‘T know this, sir: my uncle is an old man, far past 
fighting age. He is poor also, and such support as 
he could give the royalists would be of little account. 
The Commonwealth thus far has not been too merci¬ 
ful, and it has made for itself bitter enemies. Can 
you not gain for yourself and for the new government 
the credit justly due a wiser policy? Can you not 
have the names of James Dalrymple and his daughter 
stricken from this list?” 

Cromwell made no reply in words. He merely 
shook his head grimly, then turned aside and reached 
for some of the papers on the table. 

‘‘At least then,” cried Myles, “can they not be given 
a certain time to take themselves to France or Hol¬ 
land ? There they will surely not constitute a danger.” 

“No, I tell you,” shouted Cromwell, again rising 
and menacingly confronting his visitor. “Enough of 
these Malignants are abroad already, making a court 
for the young Stuart and besieging the French king 
for intervention in his behalf. And now you, Dela- 
roche, that have never been more than lukewarm in 
the cause, and that have once and again sought to 
hamper those who fought and prayed and planned 
for a true commonwealth and a purified worship in 
England, get you gone, and think yourself fortunate 

278 


THE LEVELER 


if you yourself taste not the punishment that is meted 
out to those who oppose us. It may be I have been 
unduly lax in leaving such as you abroad to work and 
plan for our undoing. Take yourself away and 
quickly.’’ 

For a moment Myles stood looking steadily at the 
roughened and swollen countenance of the General 
who in his turn gave back stare for stare. Then turn¬ 
ing on his heel, the colonel marched out of the room 
and through the hallway to the square without. 

When he was mounted and in the open street Myles 
realized the disastrous failure of his mission, and be¬ 
gan reproaching himself for the manner in which he 
had conducted his part of the interview and indeed for 
appearing at all before Cromwell. He should have 
known, he told himself, that a negotiation as difficult 
as this was not to be successfully conducted by one 
whom the General had occasion to remember with 
acute dislike. Here was a matter in which direct 
methods were not well adapted to achieve success. To 
Myles it was now bitterly plain that he should have 
found some one who could intercede with Cromwell, 
or with some other of the group now in power, with¬ 
out rousing feelings of antagonism before his message 
was heard at all. With these thoughts in mind, Myles 
recalled the favor with which his brother was regarded 
by General Fairfax, who the previous summer had 
promised him a major’s commission if he would re¬ 
main In the service. The more he reflected upon this 

279 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


the more Myles was persuaded that John would have 
little difficulty in securing Fairfax’s intercession in be¬ 
half of the Dalrymples. So he resolved to start the 
next morning for Grimsby and induce his brother to 
come to London on this errand. 

He had ridden half way to his lodgings when a 
thought came to him that made him first draw rein 
for a moment’s consideration, then turn aside down 
a side street that led toward the western suburbs. Re¬ 
calling the last words addressed to him by Cromwell, 
and the Puritan leader’s hostile manner during the 
whole of the interview just past, it seemed to Myles 
more than likely that a warrant for his own arrest 
would be speedily forthcoming, and that a squad of 
musketeers might soon be sent to his lodgings to take 
him into custody. As a prisoner he would be help¬ 
less to aid his kinsfolk or to secure for them any aid 
from others. So, as much on the Dalrymples’ account 
as his own, Myles determined to avoid tlie danger of 
immediate arrest. He spurred his mount to a canter 
and soon was free of the streets of the town. An 
hour after the conclusion of the scene at Whitehall, 
he had passed Harrison’s Inn at Chesney on his way 
to the West. 


CHAPTER XXIII 


THE WIZARD OF BENLOW 

M yles lost no time on the road. His horse 
was fresh and the traveling far easier than 
it had been three months before, so that a 
steady trot or a canter was not difficult on the level 
stretches. It was just such a day as that one nine 
years before when he had traversed this very way on 
foot and had viewed the same fields and hedges and 
the same blooming orchards of cherry and peach in 
all their springtide glory. Now, as then, the soft 
breezes of April stirred the lush new grass by the 
wayside, sang among the tiny pink leaflets of the orch¬ 
ard boughs and bore to the passing traveler fragrant 
promises of the harvest to come. 

This countryside had been but lightly touched by 
the war. Trees and fences were not bullet scarred; 
no hideous gashes in the sunny fields marked the sites 
of homesteads destroyed by cannon or the torch, and 
the old bridges of timber or of stone still spanned the 
quiet streams. Milkmaids drove their flocks afield and 
plowmen followed their slow-moving teams in seem¬ 
ing indifference to the fate of Parliaments and Kings. 
To Myles Delaroche the whole scene had the air of 

281 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


having changed not at all since that well-remembered 
day that followed the bout with Hinsdale at the fenc¬ 
ing school and the quarrel with the King’s Registrar. 

But Myles had within himself that which was bet¬ 
ter evidence of the passage of the years than anything 
his eyes and ears might tell. A few weeks before he 
had marked his twenty-ninth birthday, but he felt at 
least a score of years older than the happy lad who 
had trudged along these pathways and who had vied 
with gay Arthur Hinsdale in carefree song and story. 
He had fought through all the campaigns of a long 
and bloody war; he had known hunger and wounds 
and the black discouragement of oft repeated failure. 
But defeat when it seemed most certain and over¬ 
whelming had not brought the bitterness that came 
with victory. Naseby had been fought and won and 
Preston, with thousands of brave men slain—and Eng¬ 
land was not free. They had overthrown Charles 
Stuart only to raise up in his place Oliver Cromwell 
and his sectaries; and after seven years of war the 
people of England seemed not a whit nearer to their 
age-long goal. 

Now he passed the spot where Hinsdale had over¬ 
taken him and had besought as a favor Myles’ riding 
of his led horse. A flood of memories of Arthur and 
the old happy days rushed over him, mingled with the 
keenest realization he had yet known that they were 
forever departed. Arthur’s mortal frame lay in the 
little pastured valley near Naseby field; hundreds of 

282 


THE WIZARD OF BENLOW 


others whom Myles had known and loved, and who 
had fought on one or the other side in the great con¬ 
flict had suffered a like fate; and he himself was a 
fugitive from those who had been his leaders and 
comrades. Sir William Hinsdale lay half crippled 
with wounds in the cottage at Hinsdale Village where 
his wife had found refuge, the stern retribution of the 
Commonwealth for his share in the second civil war 
being withheld only because of his utter helplessness. 
And James Dalrymple and Lucy, who in the old days 
had worked and planned so eagerly for Myles’ ad¬ 
vancement, were now living in poverty in some foreign 
land or as hunted criminals in their own, facing the 
prospect of military courts and prisons. 

Myles rode past Heatherington Park in the late af¬ 
ternoon, and at nightfall drew rein at the little Bartley 
inn where he and Arthur had lodged after the affair 
with the gamblers at Heatherington Fete. He passed 
a restless and dream-ridden night, and at daylight was 
again in the saddle. The morning was dark and low¬ 
ering, with a chill wind out of the east, and Myles 
urged his mount forward persistently, hoping to ride 
twenty or thirty miles before the rain overtook him 
and drove him to shelter. 

By mid forenoon he had emerged on Benlow Heath 
and crossed the timber bridge over a swift flowing 
stream two miles from Benlow Village. Just below 
the bridge the river broadened and deepened to a 
pond a stone’s throw wide, fringed on the one side 

283 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


by a row of nodding flags and on the other by droop¬ 
ing willow trees. The water was deep and treacherous 
there. The mournful branches stretched far out over 
black and whirling pools that grasped and drowned 
each floating tuft or weed, while near the bank the 
withered sedges seemed to reach up clutching hands. 

All the morning Myles had been riding in a mood 
of deepest depression, and now as he passed this 
melancholy spot, that seemed to be shunned by beast 
and bird alike, a momentary shudder passed over him 
like that which shakes the frame of one who treads 
accursed or pestilential ground. While he was chid¬ 
ing himself angrily for this weakness, he heard shouts 
and shrill cries and looked up to see on the road a 
quarter of a mile away a moblike gathering of men 
and boys that surrounded and followed a smaller 
group of five or six men who marched slowly toward 
him. 

In wonderment as to the meaning of this noisy rout 
so far from the village, Myles sat more erectly in his 
saddle and rode forward at a walk to meet the as¬ 
semblage. As he approached, it gradually became clear 
that the central figure of the smaller group was an 
old man with flowing white hair who walked as a 
prison-er under guard with his hands tied together be¬ 
fore him. On either side marched tall constables with 
their wooden truncheons in their hands, their faces 
expressive of the stern dignity befitting their office 
as guardians of the public peace. Just behind them 

284 


THE WIZARD OF BENLOW 


and closely following the prisoner, came two men 
whom Myles instantly identified as magistrate and 
minister. The justice, a hard-faced man of middle 
age, wore a solemn suit of black with a heavy chain 
and seal, and the preacher was clad in the unmistak¬ 
able garb of his calling. The latter seemed to be 
exhorting and warning his companions and the cap¬ 
tive in front of him even as he made his difficult 
way over the ruts and stones of the road. The mag¬ 
istrate and others near by listened with some degree 
of attention, but the ragged louts and lads on the out¬ 
skirts of the crowd of followers kept up a constant 
shouting and jeering and groaning that must have 
made it impossible for any to understand a word of 
the preacher’s discourse. 

No sooner had Myles observed these things than 
a terrible foreboding assailed him as to the nature of 
this company and its errand. He was witness of a 
horrible thing, the like of which he had-heard or read 
of but by good fortune had never yet seen. Now it 
was possible to distinguish some of the shouts of 
the rabble: 

‘^Sorcerer!—‘‘Devil’s cozener!” “Go drink thy 
master’s health.”—“Yah! Witchcat!” 

In an instant Myles’ resolution was taken. Draw¬ 
ing rein at five paces’ distance, he called out: 

“Ho, there! What do you with this man? Is he 
a prisoner?” 

Myles’ dress and arms clearly indicated an officer 

285 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


of the army, and his demeanor was commanding. The 
company hesitated and stopped, and those in the lead 
looked to one another to make reply to this challenger. 
At length the magistrate spoke: 

‘‘He is indeed, sir. He is a practicer of Witchcraft 
and the Black Art. We go now to end his wicked¬ 
ness and his service of Satan, his master, in the pool 
yonder.” 

“I thought as much,” answered Myles steadily, 
though pity and disgust and anger raged and fought 
within him. “But know you not, poor ignorant man, 
that all such charges are but wild imaginings—that 
the poor creatures whom you hang or drown are 
more likely victims of misfortune than causers of it? 
What now has this man done that you really know 
as cause for this proceeding?” 

The magistrate’s face had grown fiery red while 
Myles was speaking; and he drew a deep breath for 
a full broadside in reply; but the minister sprang for¬ 
ward the instant Myles had done and in a shrill and 
angry voice addressed the horseman: 

“Who are you, impious man, that thus disputes the 
findings of learned ministers and reverend magis¬ 
trates? You shall suffer for it, believe me, be you 
ever so high in this world’s rank and goods and how¬ 
soever blown up with worldly pride. I tell you this 
man, with his evil enchantments borrowed from the 
arts of Satan, has brought the sickness on all the 
flocks and herds of his neighbors here so that they 

286 


THE WIZARD OF BENLOW 


die with black frothings at their mouths; and he has 
cursed their fields of corn so that the same foul froth 
appears where should be honest grain. And the chil¬ 
dren of our good neighbor Jeremy the Smith, have 
fallen to crazy antics, twisting and frothing like all 
those so bewitched, but pointing at this man’s house 
as the source of their bewitching. Now will you say 
that all this is vain imaginings? Fie upon you for a 
denier of the faith! If you persist in such sayings 
you stand yourself in danger.” 

‘‘All this is but madness and raving,” declared 
Myles. “Ye have charged him with these things and 
made yourselves believe your charges. If trial there 
has been. I’ll warrant that was the fashion of it.” 

“Child of the Devil!” screamed the preacher, fran¬ 
tically waving a bony fist toward his gainsayer. “I 
tell you he has confessed these hideous things, and 
that he was tempted to them by Satan himself. Now 
what say you of wild imaginings?” 

Myles started back aghast, and for a moment knew 
not what to say or do. But at that instant was heard 
the voice of the accused—a pitiable voice indeed, 
cracked and broken with age and weakness, yet shrill 
with terror and eagerness: 

“Oh, sir! Oh, good master! It was under the 
thumbscrews I confessed. I could not do otherwise, 
nor could you nor any other man. It was so dreadful 
that I would have sworn to the murder of my sainted 
mother if that would gain me release. I never harmed 

287 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


their flocks, indeed, sir, nor did any of these things 
of which they accuse me/^ 

Then in the breast of Myles Delaroche welled up 
a mighty and uncontrollable rage. Torture! the thumb¬ 
screws!—used in the name of Justice in the land 
where he had dreamed that men should be free I His 
head was a seething furnace: his eyes shot fire. His 
muscles set themselves and his teeth were bared like 
those of a tiger that crouches for a spring. Snatch¬ 
ing his sword from its sheath, he seized it by the 
blade and whirled its hilt about his head. Once— 
twice he struck like the leaping lightning, and the 
burly constables went down as though smitten by the 
bolt itself. The magistrate proved not such a ready 
victim. At Myles^ first onslaught he had leaped back 
out of reach and had drawn a flintlock pistol from 
his belt. He now levelled this at the breast of the 
horseman and pulled the trigger. 

Had it not been for the prisoner, Myles would surely 
have been slain. With his hands tied before him, 
the old man might have been thought entirely helpless; 
but as the pistol was raised he leaped before the jus¬ 
tice and, violently swinging up both arms, knocked the 
weapon into the air just as it was discharged, so 
that the bullet went harmlessly toward the sky. Then 
as Myles wheeled toward them, both magistrate and 
preacher turned and ran, leaving the prisoner in the 
middle of the road. 

Myles turned and cut with his sword the rope that 

288 


THE WIZARD OF BENLOW 


bound the old man’s wrists and was stooping to ad¬ 
dress some question to him when a shower of stones 
came from the villagers who had gathered in two 
parties on either side of the road. One of these mis¬ 
siles, of the size of a man’s fist, struck Myles in the 
shoulder and nearly threw him from his horse. An¬ 
other bruised the cheek of the accused man and drew 
a spurt of blood. 

In the face of this vicious attack, Myles hesitated 
no longer to use his weapon as against armed men. 
Sword in hand, he spurred his horse directly toward 
the larger of the two groups of missile throwers, and 
in an instant was among them. They scattered in all 
directions with shrieks of terror, and Myles refrained 
from any strokes that might have proved deadly. The 
other group was driven helter-skelter in the same man¬ 
ner; and when the rescuer returned to the old man’s 
side the road was clear before them. 

Both of the fallen constables were now stirring and 
moaning, and Myles was glad to note that their wide 
felt hats had so far shielded their heads from the 
handle of his sword as to save their hurts from be¬ 
ing mortal. But in the distance some of the villagers 
were gathering fresh supplies of stones, and he real¬ 
ized that if he would save the prisoner he must act 
quickly. 

‘‘Climb up behind me,” he shouted to the accused 
one. 

The old man obeyed at once, showing a readiness 

289 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


and agility quite surprising in one of his years. Myles 
put spurs to his horse, and the two quickly passed out 
of sight of their pursuers. A few minutes later they 
had ridden through the village and emerged on the 
open ground beyond. 

Without a word to each other they rode past cot¬ 
tages and farms, the good horse cantering steadily 
with his double burden. Ten miles from the village 
the road entered a thick wood, and there the accused 
man broke silence to say that he was now safe from 
pursuit and ready to alight and make his way alone. 

“Til go through the wood a mile or two,’’ he said, 
‘^and reach the road that leads to Leamington. There 
I have friends and will be safe, for ’tis forty miles and 
more, and none come there from Benlow way.” 

“How came you to be thus accused of witchcraft?” 
asked Myles, as the old fellow stood in the road by 
his side, endeavoring to find fitting words of thanks 
for his rescue. 

“Why! I was no more guilty of the deeds they 
laid to me than a babe unborn 1” exclaimed the villager, 
whom Myles now saw to be a person of some educa¬ 
tion and by no means the simple rustic he had sup¬ 
posed. “But when I was a lad I was at Tiverton 
School and had my chance at learning. It was not 
much I got, but ’twas enough so that for twenty years 
I was schoolmaster at Benlow there. And I was al¬ 
ways reading books of old time medicine and such¬ 
like lore such as no one else in the town could master. 


290 



MILES PUT SPURS TO HIS HORSE AND THE TWO QUICKLY PASSED 
OUT OF SIGHT OF THEIR PURSUERS. 






























THE WIZARD OF BENLOW 

From them and in other ways I picked up some knowl¬ 
edge of doctoring and the ways of animals and 
crops—the blights and diseases that spoil them and 
ways to cure them. The people there could under¬ 
stand nothing of this, so at last they said I practiced 
tlie Black Art. They gave me the name of sorcerer, 
and took away my place at the school. Since that time 
I have made my living on a little farm there; and ’tis 
true my cows and sheep and my fields of wheat did 
not suffer from the blight and smut as did those of 
my neighbors, because, as to many of such things, I 
knew how to deal with them to prevent them. And 
I would have done as much for others too, but when 
I offered they drove me away with curses, saying all 
my power was from the Evil One. So for a year or 
two I have kept by myself and had no traffic with 
my neighbors. And meanwhile their herds and their 
fields have been much beset, so that last year and 
through the winter there has been a bitter dearth in 
the village. As for the blacksmith’s children, they 
are afflicted with the falling sickness, such as has been 
known here and there for centuries and that has 
naught to do with charms and spells or any works of 
the Evil One.” 

‘T believe you,” said Myles. ‘T knew ’twas some¬ 
thing of the sort was at the root of this. And fur¬ 
thermore—they may call me impious if they will—but 
I believe the stories of all these witch-baitings would 
be very like to this, if we might fully hear them.” 

293 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


’Tis so, ril swear,cried the other. ‘T have heard 
of many instances like to mine, and also—I can tell 
you, as a man whose eyes are open, what I would 
not dare to say to others—I have read many of the 
secret books of what they call sorcery and astrology 
and the Black Art. One of them was found at my 
house, and made a part of their evidence against me. 
But, believe me, sir, they are naught but gibberish, 
put together by quacks and frauds for the mystifying 
of simple souls and the getting of their gold. The 
whole matter is quackery and delusion.’’ 

'T am more than ever glad,” said Myles, “that it 
has been my fortune to assist a man who has such 
knowledge, and who, if people would but listen to 
him might do much good in the world. But I 
fear that the time is not yet here for the accept¬ 
ance of such words, and that he who utters them 
publicly is in imminent danger of the gallows or 
the drowning pool. But now have you means for 
your journey? I would not have you seized as a 
vagabond.” 

The old man chuckled softly and pulled from his 
pocket a small handful of gold pieces. 

“Oh, aye. I have enough and to spare,” he cried. 
“My precious neighbors found this gold on me when 
they dragged me forth from my house. But none 
of them dared take the pieces for fear they might 
carry evil spells. So they thrust them back in 

294 


THE WIZARD OF BENLOW 


my pockets and meant they should be sunk with 
me to the bottom of the Willow Pool. Now 
tliey’ll serve me finely till I can make a new start for 
earning.” 

“Good!” said Myles warmly. “ ’Tis good to see 
you’re not utterly bereft. And now I bid you God¬ 
speed and a safe ending to your journey. But this I 
say in parting: Remember henceforth what things 
it was that brought this persecution down on you, 
and avoid them straightly. You’ve been quite near 
enough to death for this cause.” 

“Oh, fear me not,” said the old man, earnestly. 
“ ’Tis an experience that needs not to be repeated; 
and I will use all caution. Now God’s blessing on 
you, sir, for a brave and a generous man. People of 
your sort should rule in England; if they did so, 
’twould be a happy land. If there’s any virtue in the 
prayers of one so poor and luckless as I am, your 
path henceforth shall be strewn with good fortune, 
you shall have friendship and love and the blessings 
of those who follow you. Were I indeed a worker 
of magic, such a fortune for you would be the first 
spell I’d weave.” 

As he uttered the last of these words, the speaker 
waved his hand in farewell and disappeared into the 
undergrowth. After a searching look behind to be 
sure that none had followed them from Benlow, Myles 
struck spurs to his horse and rode away at a canter 
in the direction of Bel ford and Grimsby. The air 

295 



THE TORCH BEARERS 


was brighter; the birds sang in the boughs overhead, 
and, whether or not as a result of the old man’s bless¬ 
ing, Myles heavy heart was strangely lightened. The 
sun had forced its way through thinning clouds, and 
the forest road was aglow with the colors of spring. 


CHAPTER XXIV 


CEDRICSWOLD 

F our days thereafter Myles rode up the path 
to Grimsby Manor, and was warmly greeted 
by all the family who came forth to meet him. 
His brother John moved but slowly and limpingly in¬ 
deed. He had had a fall from his horse a week be¬ 
fore, resulting in some sprains and bruises from which 
he was as yet but partially recovered. As soon as 
greetings were exchanged, Elizabeth Meldrum, with 
an anxious wifely manner at which John’s mother 
smiled, began urging her husband-to-be to return to 
the great armchair in the hall, saying that he might 
take cold in the foggy air and that they all could 
talk with Myles more fittingly within the house. So 
the whole party moved within doors, Mistress 
Delaroche fairly hanging on the arm of her younger 
son. 

Seated before the great fireplace, Myles told them 
of his futile journey to London, the gloom of the city 
after the execution of the King, his own vain efforts 
to secure united action from the more liberal offi¬ 
cers of the army, and finally of his stormy interview 
with the Puritan General. 

297 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


‘My faith!” cried John, after hearing of Crom¬ 
well’s threatening words at the close, “you did well 
to ride away at once. I’ll warrant a squad of dra- 
, goons went seeking you within the hour after you 
left Whitehall. And I am not so sure but they’ll be 
sent even here to seize you. Did any know which 
way you rode ?” 

“None,” answered Myles. “I left my few belong¬ 
ings at the inn, thinking it better to lose them than 
my liberty. And I wished mightily to tell you, John, 
of the plight of our uncle and cousin. My thought 
is that you may prevail with General Fairfax where I 
failed so sadly with Cromwell. Fairfax has always 
looked on you with favor. Can you undertake it, 
think you?” 

“Why! I will surely undertake it as soon as I can 
ride, which may be a week or so from now. They 
are our kinsfolk, by marriage at least, and ’tis as much 
my place as yours to assist them.” 

“Right!” exclaimed Sir Anton. “We must not 
leave our kin in such a strait if aught we may do can 
relieve them. But I am of the same mind as John 
with respect to Cromwell and his further doings. Did 
you meet any on the road, Myles, who knew you and 
might carry word to London of the way you had 
taken ?” 

“No,” answered Myles slowly, “but I had one pas¬ 
sage with a magistrate and constables on Benlow 
Heath that might show my road to any that Inquired 

298 


CEDRICSWOLD 


after me, and which, I fear will not better my stand¬ 
ing with our present rulers.” 

Then he related tlie tale of the meeting with the 
witchbaiters and the rescue of the old man from their 
clutches. When he had finished, all were silent for 
a moment while they looked in dismay at one another. 
Then Sir Anton said, gravely: 

“I would not have had you do otherwise, Myles, 
though Twas a rash and desperate thing, and ’tis 
the greatest wonder that you came through unscathed. 
But this is as bad as the other for your future safety. 
I know not whether Cromwell is a believer in witch¬ 
craft, but full many of those who surround him make 
of it an article of faith as sacred as any they hold. 
They'll wish to hunt you down as an encourager of 
sorcery—the more so because if what you say is true, 
it makes them out to be fools and dullards for believ¬ 
ing in witches’ spells. They’ll take your life if they 
can, and in doing so will assert, and even believe, that 
they do God service. We must get you out of Eng¬ 
land forthwith. Until these matters have overblown 
no place in the kingdom will be safe for you.” 

“ ’Tis so, Myles,” said Mistress Delaroche, most 
earnestly. “You must take ship for France, and re¬ 
main for a year or two till these things are something 
forgotten.” 

“It hardly seems to me,” said Myles, “that it can 
be necessary to fly from the country in that fashion. 
I have committed no crime.” 

299 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


“Oh!” cried John, “’tis not what you have done 
in these days that will send you to prison and maybe 
to worse. I tell you, if you stay in England, Crom¬ 
well will never rest till you are behind locked doors.” 

So for half an hour the discussion went on, all the 
family joined in warning Myles of his danger and 
instancing many who had already fallen victims to 
the fanatic zeal of the Commonwealth leaders. At 
last, and half against his will, it was arranged that 
he should ride in three days’ time with Captain Demp¬ 
ster of Belford, a shipmaster whose vessel was now 
loading in the Severn and would sail for Havre the 
following week. His father and brother united in 
urging Myles to remain closely at Grimsby in the 
meantime, and to be seen as little as possible by the 
neighbors, so that the news of his being there should 
not be sent abroad. Elizabeth Meldrum, who for 
some weeks had been staying at the home of her aunt 
in Belford Village, now offered to observe any arriv¬ 
als there and to send word of any messengers who 
arrived from London and who might bear warrants 
calling for action against Myles by the local authori¬ 
ties. 

These arrangements made, Elizabeth rode away to¬ 
ward the village, and John and Myles made their way 
to a point near the barns whence could be had a full 
view of the green meadows and wide grain fields in 
the valley that had been Mallard Fen. 

For an hour and more they talked of the things 

300 


CEDRICSWOLD 


that might be done in future years for the further de¬ 
velopment of the Manor Farm and the protection of 
its woodlands. Then, the dinner hour having arrived, 
they returned to the house, and were just seating 
themselves at the board when Mistress Delaroche 
sprang up with a cry of alarm and pointed to a horse 
and rider that were emerging from an old wood road 
at the back of a pasture a furlong away. 

“Look \” she cried, “ ’Tis Elizabeth returning by the 
wood path. Whatever has happened now?” 

They had not long to wait for an explanation, for 
Elizabeth came across the pasture ground at a gal¬ 
lop, and they all hurried out to meet her. As soon 
as she came near she began speaking in a low tone, 
but with her voice tense with excitement: 

“Myles cannot wait for the French ship. He must 
leave at once— to-day 

“Oh, Elizabeth! What have you heard ?” cried Mis¬ 
tress Delaroche. 

“As I rode into the square at Bel ford, there came 
from Shrewsbury way a Parliament officer and half 
a dozen soldiers, riding horses much worn with trav¬ 
eling. I lingered near the inn door to learn of their 
business; and the first the officer uttered was a ques¬ 
tion as to the whereabouts of Grimsby Manor. Then, 
when he had been directed, he and one of the men 
talked about the horses—whether they could make the 
farther journey here, without rest and feeding. At 
last the soldier convinced him that ’twould be best to 

301 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


halt at the inn for an hour or two lest some of their 
mounts be foundered with hard riding. When I had 
heard that much, I turned about, and, riding through 
the lanes and fields and then the wood road, made 
shortest time on my return. But they will be here in 
an hour—or in two at most.’^ 

^‘Myles, you must go at once,” cried his mother, 
with tears streaming down her face. ‘T doubt not 
Cromwell has your name at this moment on his lists 
of Malignants.” 

“Aye,” agreed Sir Anton, “there’s no time to lose. 
But I know not for the life of me which way you 
should ride. There are soldier companies in all the 
towns; and if they have such orders, they will arrest 
you on sight. ’Tis perilous for you to remain in Eng¬ 
land for a day; and our ship does not sail for a week 
or more.” 

know what he shall do,” declared John, eagerly, 
his eyes alight with a new resolution. “There is a 
vessel sails from Liverpool but two days hence that’s 
bound for Boston on Massachusetts Bay. By hard 
riding, Myles may board her, and be safe on the open 
sea even while they post these lists about here demand¬ 
ing his arrest.” 

“And at Boston I might take service under the Col¬ 
ony, I suppose,” said Myles. 

“Nay, never!” cried John. “You shall not linger 
at Boston, but go straight on to Cedricswold. And 
you shall go as owner of that goodly grant—no less— 

302 


CEDRICSWOLD 


for I will here and now make deed to you of all my 
rights therein/' 

“But how can I accept such a gift?” asked Myles. 
“Cedricswold took five years and more of your labor, 
with hardship and danger added. Will you give all 
this up to me because now I am somewhat beset? 'Tis 
more than I can take, John.” 

“Listen!” said John earnestly. “During many of 
those years I toiled at Cedricswold you did the like at 
Grimsby here. Grimsby is my heritage, by strict en¬ 
tail; and you have by your work and planning more 
than doubled its worth. Now I make over Cedrics¬ 
wold in fair return. Moreover, Elizabeth has many 
times besought me to remain in England; and in doing 
this I yield to her wish also.” 

Myles looked to his father, and the old baronet nod¬ 
ded emphatically. “ 'Tis just,” he said. “ 'Tis no 
more than your due.” 

John turned about and hurried into the house. 
Seizing paper and pen, he proceeded to write 
and sign a quitclaim in his brother’s favor to 
all the lands of Cedricswold. Meanwhile Sir Anton 
had gone to the stables to order the saddling 
of a fresh horse, and Mistress Delaroche and 
Elizabeth were stowing a knapsack with clothing and 
keepsakes. 

Ere a quarter of an hour had passed Myles had em¬ 
braced his mother in farewell, wrung the hands of his 
father and John and Elizabeth, and was riding through 

303 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


a wood-path toward a little-traveled road on the other 
side of Grimsby lands. Gaining this, he made all 
speed toward the north and west. At daybreak he 
halted at a little inn at Ramshill, forty miles from 
Bel ford. 


CHAPTER XXV 


WESTWARD HO 

H aving accomplished more than half of 
the journey to the seaport, Myles thought 
it well to stay at the inn till mid-afternoon 
in order that his horse might be as fresh as possible 
for another night ride. He had met no soldiers on 
the road thus far, but this he attributed to his having 
made most of his journey from Grimsby under the 
cover of darkness. And now he counted on the same 
advantage for the remainder of his ride, thinking to 
come into Liverpool in the early morning and to board 
the waiting vessel unobserved. 

But the roads in this part of the country were un¬ 
familiar to him, and they curved and crooked about 
bewilderingly. For the most part Myles avoided ask¬ 
ing his way, trusting to his own keen sense of direc¬ 
tion and to the indications afforded by the westering 
sun. The result was that he added fifteen or twenty 
miles to his road by taking wrong turnings at the cross¬ 
roads, and when darkness came he was still an un¬ 
known distance from his destination. 

A slight unsteadiness in his horse’s gait caused him 
to dismount and look to the animal’s feet and thus 

305 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


to learn that somewhere on the road a shoe had been 
cast. The track was rough and stony; and the hoof 
was already somewhat broken, so that Myles quickly 
concluded that the shoe must be replaced before many 
more miles were covered, else the horse might be ser¬ 
iously lamed. 

At the next village he inquired for the smith, and 
found him, after some searching, in a tumbledown 
cottage at the end of a dark and narrow lane. At 
first the man refused to reopen his shop, saying surlily 
that his work was done for the day and that he would 
shoe no more horses for any man. But the display 
of a coin that was thrice his usual fee brought a 
change in his manner, and presently he came shambling 
down the rickety steps of his dwelling and proceeded 
to unbar the door of the shop. Then for the first time 
it became apparent that he was much the worse for 
drink, almost helpless indeed and barely able to stand. 
Trying to work the bellows to revive the dying coals 
of the forge, he soon was hanging from the handle 
like a drowning man on a floating spar. His customer 
decided that the work such a man would do on a 
horse’s hoof would be more likely to lame the poor 
beast than to help him. 

But Myles had once or twice shod one of his own 
horses under the tutelage of the old smith at Belford, 
and he now determined to make use of the knowledge 
thus gained. Elbowing the reeling smith from his 
way, he rekindled the fire, and, taking such tools as 

306 


WESTWARD HO 


were necessary from the bench, set to work to pre¬ 
pare the hoof. Then he selected a shoe from the pile 
beside the anvil, heated and shaped it and nailed it in 
place. The work thus done, if not as smoothly fin¬ 
ished as that of a capable smith, was equally service¬ 
able. Half an hour after entering the shop, Myles 
tossed the promised coin to the drunkard and mounted 
and rode away. 

In the meantime the night had grown as black as 
pitch and a thin rain had begun to fall. There could 
be no question of taking shelter for the night, for 
Myles did not know at what hour the tide would serve 
for the vessel’s sailing, and it might prove to be in 
the early morning. So he determined to push on, and 
to depend on chance meetings with other travelers for 
guidance. 

It so happened that none such were abroad on the 
roads, and Myles drove on half-blindly through the 
rain and mist and past sleeping cottages and farm¬ 
steads, until at midnight, arriving at a small town, 
he was forced to stop at the inn to inquire his way. 
The sleepy hostler told him he was thirty miles from 
Liverpool, and thus revealed to Myles that he had 
been for hours circling his goal without approaching 
it. With a clearer notion of his road the drenched 
and weary horseman set out once more, and when the 
sun rose found himself within five or six miles of the 
town. 

Spurring his tired horse forward, he soon covered 

307 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


the remaining distance and was riding through the 
few streets and lanes that clustered near the water’s 
edge. Now he could see the masts and spars of ves¬ 
sels, and had no further need for directions. 

Presently he came to the head of a dock, and had 
the broad pool of the Mersey outspread before him. 
Then his heart leaped up in his throat, for the largest 
of all the vessels there was already three hundred 
yards from the shore and was moving steadily sea¬ 
ward. This was a brig with the high bow and stern 
that had been described to him. As he spurred reck¬ 
lessly along the rough planking of the wharf the craft 
swung slowly around and he could see clearly lettered 
on the stern the name that left no doubt as to her 
identity. The ship bound for Boston had weighed 
anchor at sunrise; and he was too late by half an 
hour. 

Half a dozen dockmen and loungers were scattered 
about the wharf. Myles threw himself from his horse 
and shouted to the one who happened to be nearest: 

“I must board that vessel. Have you not a boat 
in which we may overtake her ?” 

The dockman—a grizzled old fellow of sixty— 
turned his head slowly and looked after the retreat¬ 
ing ship. Then he answered deliberately: 

‘T’d say no, sir. She’s much too far. You should 
have come at sunrise.” 

Myles stamped his foot in keen impatience. 

“So I would have done if in any way it could have 

308 


WESTWARD HO 


been managed. But now look, my man. Here’s my 
horse with saddle and bridle that shall be yours if 
you put me aboard. Speak quickly.” 

The dockman turned to a younger companion. 

“What say, Jem? Can we fetch it, think you?” 

“Coom,” said Jem eagerly, “we’ll make it, man. 
’Tis fair boat hire he offers.” 

Running down a stairway at the side of the dock, 
Jem pulled a four-oared boat from beneath and began 
untying the rope that fastened her. Before this was 
accomplished, Myles was in his place in the stern and 
the older dockman was at his oars. In a moment the 
two boatmen had pushed off and were pulling with 
long and steady strokes toward the brig. The wind 
was light, but the vessel was sailing straight away 
from them, and for five minutes or more they seemed 
to Myles to make not the least gain upon her. Then 
she came about on the other tack, and the oarsmen 
headed for a point two miles away where they hoped 
to intercept her. For the next few minutes they made 
good headway, but the vessel tacked for the second 
time while they were still a hundred yards astern. 

Myles stood up and waved his hat and shouted; 
but, although several men were to be seen about the 
rail, no one on board paid any heed to his calls and 
signals. The speed of the brig was now fully equal 
to that of the boat; and the oarsmen were already 
tiring. Presently the older man stopped rowing with 
a sigh. 

309 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


‘‘We canna make it, master,’’ he said. 

“Here!” shouted Myles to the younger rower. “Let 
me have your place. And you sit by him and take 
one of his oars. We’ll overtake them yet.” 

Crawling over the thwarts, Myles seized the rear 
pair of oars while the two dockmen prepared to row 
as he bade them. Soon all three were pulling with 
swift and powerful strokes that made the boat seem to 
leap through the water. The distance between it and 
the ship visibly lessened. The sweat poured down the 
faces of all the oarsmen, for now they rowed as in 
a race for highest stakes. Moment by moment they 
gained on the ship. Seeing that they must win or 
lose within the next few minutes, Myles still further 
quickened his stroke and the elder dockman uttered 
some needed words of warning lest he break an oar 
with his tremendous pulling and lose them the prize. 

When again the steersman of the brig prepared to 
tack, he waved a hand to the occupants of the boat 
and called out some words of praise for their hardi¬ 
hood. The mate let down a rope ladder from the 
waist; and the boat ran closely under it. Myles leaped 
up and seized the rounds. A moment later he had 
climbed safely over the rail. 

The mate was occupied with urgent matters about 
the deck, and Myles stood for some minutes recover¬ 
ing his breath and watching the skillful handling of 
the ship that had just entered the outer channel. Then 
he bethought himself of the necessity for interviewing 

310 


WESTWARD HO 


the captain and making due arrangements for his pas¬ 
sage. With this intention he was climbing the stair¬ 
way toward the afterdeck, when he heard a loud and 
angry voice which seemed to be replying to some ques¬ 
tion or protest which had not reached Myles’ ears. 

“I tell you, sir, you must pay passage money if you 
are to sail on my ship. If you have come aboard with¬ 
out it, you shall even go back whence you came.” 

By this time Myles had reached the deck and could 
see the burly captain near the taffrail and the persons 
whom he was addressing. These were a thin and bent 
old man in worn and faded velvet garments and a 
young woman, likewise meanly clad, who stood erect 
beside him, half supporting him with her arm. Both 
of these would-be passengers stood with their backs 
toward Myles, so that he caught no glimpse of their 
faces. Now the old man was speaking—in a thin and 
quavering voice and with piteous breaks in his utter¬ 
ance : 

“But, captain, do I not tell you—we are close 
friends of Sir Robert Payne—who is now a magistrate 
in Boston. He will pay you the money—for our pas¬ 
sage—readily enough. He will do so, I am certain.” 

“Have you a paper signed by him that sayeth so?” 
demanded the captain. 

“No,” answered the old man distressfully. “He 
knows not yet of our coming—but he will pay you. 
That I know. He cannot do otherwise—for old times’ 
sake.” 

311 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


‘‘Ho!” grunted the seaman, “I know full well how 
much old times’ sake is worth—and that is nothing at 
all in gold or silver coin. But I have other things to 
do than thus to stand chaffering. I’ll send you back 
with the pilot when he leaves us. ’Tis my last word.” 

Then the young woman spoke, and Myles was 
thrilled by the tones of a well-remembered voice. 
Deeper it was than when he had last heard it, some 
five years before, and with a note of sadness that was 
new to him. But he knew it at once for that of Lucy 
Dalrymple, his playmate of old days in London and 
his fearless champion before the grim Puritan leader. 

“Captain,” she was saying while she stretched forth 
her hand containing two small objects of gold, “will 
not this bracelet and this ring be security for our pas¬ 
sage money? Their value is not great in money, per¬ 
haps; but they were my mother’s; and you may be 
sure I will make every effort to redeem them.” 

As he looked at the baubles thus offered, the cap¬ 
tain’s face took on a look of fierce contempt; but be¬ 
fore he could reply Myles Delaroche had stepped for¬ 
ward and placed himself at Lucy’s side. 

“Captain,” he cried joyously, “tell me the amount 
of this passage money, and I will pay it you, along 
with my own.” 

“And who may you be, sir?” asked the shipmaster 
in bewilderment. 

“I am the man who, intending to take passage on 

312 


WESTWARD HO 


your vessel, was so delayed as nearly to have been 
left behind. I came up the side but five minutes since.^’ 
“Oho!” exclaimed the captain, “so you are the man 
who would have had me lay to, with a wind and tide 
like this while you overtook me. You’ll learn, per¬ 
chance, to be an earlier riser when you’d sail to the 
other side of the earth. Well, you are aboard at last. 
And do you say you’ll pay the passage money for these 
people ?” 

“Aye, and at once,” answered Myles, drawing a 
well filled purse from his pocket. “If you’ll tell me the 
amount, we can quickly come to a settlement.” 

“Myles Delaroche!” cried Lucy. “What do you 
here, in Heaven’s name?” 

“The selfsame thing as you, dear cousin,” responded 
Myles, gayly, “and you, sir,” he added, turning to 
James Dalrymple with a bow. “I take passage for 
American in the good ship Beaconf* 

The poor old gentleman was speechless with be¬ 
wilderment, but he wrung Myles’ hand with a will, 
while tears of joy at this deliverance ran down his 
wrinkled countenance. The captain quickly despatched 
his business with Myles and took himself to another 
portion of the deck, leaving his passengers to them¬ 
selves. Presently Myles found a bench where all three 
might sit while they told each other of their recent 
fortunes, of the events which had driven them aboard 
the Beacon and of such plans as they had for life in 
America. 


313 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


A hasty note was written to John Delaroche, tell¬ 
ing of Myles’ embarking and of the safety of James 
Dalrymple and Lucy. This was despatched by the 
returning pilot and arrangements were made for its 
forwarding from Liverpool by special messenger. 

Then, during the long forenoon, the three exiles, 
happy In the fortune which had reunited them, sat in 
converse, grave and gay, while the shores of England 
faded away behind them. 

Thereafter followed many bright and peaceful days, 
filled with such quiet happiness as Myles had not 
known for years. The winds were fair, the skies for 
the most part blue and smiling, and they met no dan¬ 
gerous gales. Old James Dalrymple, relieved for the 
time of his burden of care and apprehension, was well 
content to sit for hours together on the bench near the 
taffrail, watching the snowcaps on the dancing waves. 
Meanwhile Myles and Lucy walked the deck or hung 
over the rail, absorbed in grave converse on the pres¬ 
ent and future of England and in happier anticipa¬ 
tions of the new land toward which they were jour¬ 
neying. 

In spite of the hardships and dangers among which 
she had lived for the past several years, Lucy had be¬ 
come a tall and beautiful woman—her figure rounded 
with the graceful curves of early maturity and her 
black eyes no less bright, though something graver 
and more understanding than those of the hoyden 
maid of Surrey Lane. But it was the growth of her 

314 


WESTWARD HO 


mina that most surprised and charmed her companion. 
Always of a quick apprehension and ready sympathy, 
Lucy had developed an understanding of the world 
of men and affairs such as was rare indeed among 
young women of any station and which was to Myles 
a revelation and a delight. Many otherwise empty 
hours at the homes of her Cavalier friends had been 
filled with reading and musing, and she had lost no 
opportunity for discussion of the great issues of the 
time with active-minded men and women of any party. 
Myles found to his great surprise that Lucy knew as 
much of history and of forms of government as he 
did himself, and that for any of the opinions she held 
on these subjects she was fully able to give a logical 
reason. 

No other woman he had known, with the single ex¬ 
ception of his mother, had ever shown a like interest 
in national affairs. Lucy's thought had developed long 
since beyond the blind belief in the House of Stuart 
which would be her father’s faith as long as he lived; 
but Myles soon found that she weighed the preten¬ 
sions of Parliament and Commonwealth in the same 
critical scale. High sounding phrases that had not 
behind them a genuine intent for the public good now 
moved her only to scorn or to laughter that had in it 
something of the impish mirth of olden days. But she 
remained, nevertheless an idealist—one who looked 
to the future for better things than the world had yet 
seen—a believer in the progress to be achieved through 

315 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


the brave hearts and unfettered minds of the newer 
day. 

One evening, some five or six weeks after they had 
left Liverpool, the captain surprised them all by an¬ 
nouncing that, if the wind held, they might expect to 
come in sight of land by daybreak or soon after. 
They were already near the point of Cape Cod, 
and would soon be in Massachusetts Bay. With 
good fortune they would land in Boston before an¬ 
other night. 

Myles went to his bed with his mind filled with a 
strange excitement. He was like a boy on the brink 
of some great adventure that seems to dwarf all his 
other experience. He slept but fitfully, and before the 
earliest light of dawn was out on the deck, gazing 
intently into the darkness ahead. 

His vigil had not long continued before he heard 
light steps behind him and turned to see Lucy ap¬ 
proaching. 

‘T, too, must see America as soon as I can,’’ she 
said, with a laugh that failed to hide her excitement. 
“I have not slept for hours.” 

“There’s naught but sea and cloud thus far,” an¬ 
swered Myles warmly, “but I can better wait here than 
in my bed. Perchance we shall not see the land 
though till the sun is well risen.” 

“We shall wait then for a good hour yet. The east 
is still as black as midnight.” 

“Aye, but there’s a thick bank of cloud there that 

316 


WESTWARD HO 


hides the sunrise. See how the stars fade overhead, 
and how the sails are already lightening.’' 

‘‘ ’Tis so,” answered Lucy, breathlessly. “Morning 
is already in the sky overhead. There is a sea gull, 
sailing in the sunlight, with snow-white breast and 
wings.” 

For a moment both were silent. Then suddenly 
Myles flung out his hand toward the northwestern 
horizon and cried: 

“Oh, look! Is not that land, far ahead and to the 
right? It seems too firm for cloud.” 

Lucy made no reply, but for some minutes stood 
gazing where he had pointed. Gradually the dark 
shape beyond the blue-black waters grew clearer, its 
contour became definite and fixed, unlike the cloud 
forms that momently shifted and paled. At last Myles 
spoke again: 

“It is America.” 

“Yes,” said Lucy, softly, “the land of the future.” 

Myles slowly turned about and for long stood gaz¬ 
ing at the eastern cloud bank beyond which lay the 
land for which he had worked and fought and 
dreamed, the land that held the graves of his boy¬ 
hood friends and of his youthful hopes. 

Lucy looked up quickly and seemed to read his 
thought. 

“Dear Myles,” she said, “we come to a new Eng¬ 
land—one that in good time may become a happier 
land than that which we have left. You have toiled 

317 


THE TORCH BEARERS 


and fought for years in hope of a better day for our 
country, and now at the end are fleeing from new 
tyrants who have seized upon the fruits of your vic¬ 
tories. But even so you have little cause to be down¬ 
hearted. The work you have done cannot be lost, for 
you and others like you are the torch hearers who, 
marching far in advance of your comrades, have given 
to the world a new vision. It may be that in this 
great new land—this America—there will one day 
arise a state where, under wise and equal laws, men 
shall at last be free. We may not live to see it—I’ve 
thought many times that your ideas were such as in 
our day could not be realized anywhere—^but perhaps 
some of our blood will do so in a happier time to 
come. And of that glorious future state, you, Myles 
Delaroche, are a founder.” 

Myles turned and for a moment gazed at the earnest 
face of his companion while a wave of happiness, 
such as he had never known, surged up within him. 
Her small brown hand lay on the rail, and he covered 
it with his. 

“Lucy,” he said hoarsely, “will you share my for¬ 
tunes in this land of a new promise?” 

For answer Lucy lifted her other hand and gave 
it to him also. While thus they stood the rising sun 
emerged from the cloud that shrouded the eastern ho¬ 
rizon and gilded the summits of the green hills on the 
shores of America. 


THE END 


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